


you loved her too much (and you dived too deep)

by soundslikehope



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Confessions, F/F, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 03:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundslikehope/pseuds/soundslikehope
Summary: The final battle is over, and Emma's wedding is rapidly approaching. Regina is trying to find a balance between being there for the woman she loves and keeping herself from falling apart.She might not be the only one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DelicatePoem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelicatePoem/gifts).
  * Inspired by [deep end [fanvid]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20482325) by [DelicatePoem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelicatePoem/pseuds/DelicatePoem). 

> This fic was inspired by my friend Vicky's fantastic video, which you should definitely go watch before you read this! (You should also go read her Supernova if you haven’t already; it’s absolutely beautiful and will knock your socks off.)
> 
> Thanks to Arisela for being the best cheerleader I could have ever asked for, Paige and Sophy for helping me with the writing process, the mods for organizing everything yet again, and—most of all—Vicky for making the best video ever (seriously, go watch it right now, it’s amazing).
> 
> The story is set some time after the engagement scene in 6x14, ignoring most of the canon developments after that scene but assuming everything important from season 6 (i.e. the final battle, the Split Queen arc) has somehow been resolved—except, of course, the CS engagement.
> 
> Content warnings for: Hook existing and being the worst; seeing before and after CS sex (though not during, because I like my eyeballs just as much as any of you); and Emma continually trying to talk herself into thinking Hook is good for her (he’s not) and that the problematic things he does are not a big deal (they are).
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the song “Let Her Go” by Passenger.

Despite everything, Regina has to laugh when she receives the invitation. It’s written in calligraphy so swirly that she can barely read it. The border is made up of birds and small frolicking animals in various colours. The entire thing screams _ Made By Snow White. _But the most ridiculous part, by far, is the date.

_Two_ _weeks._ That’s the amount of time Snow thinks they’ll need to plan this wedding. It’s true that Snow’s own wedding was technically thrown in much less time, but assuming Emma wants more of a ceremony than standing near a lake with a former knight acting as officiant, then Snow has her head firmly in the clouds. Which, of course, is nothing new.

There’s no doubt in Regina’s mind that the date was Snow’s decision. Regina hasn’t heard anything from either Snow nor Emma about the wedding since before the final battle, even though she’s seen them both regularly. Snow brings Regina tea and sandwiches and even casseroles, presumably in an attempt to ensure she’s not going to go off the deep end now that Robin is dead and the Queen is back inside her—a gesture Regina finds both kind and condescending. And Regina herself had gone to see Emma every day while she was recovering in hospital. There was nothing to indicate that she was in any rush to get married. She was in a rush to get off of bed rest and resume her life, yes, but anyone would want that. (In some ways, Regina thinks they’ve all been spoiled by magic solving their problems. True love’s kiss can fix many things, she’ll admit, but a near-fatal stab wound is not one of them.)

If Emma _ were _itching to get married, Regina would surely know. She may not be an expert on weddings, but she knows the best friend of the bride is nearly always asked to be the maid of honour, and that fact has crossed her mind many times over the past several weeks. Emma hasn’t asked her yet, but unless she’s planning to ask her mother—a woman who can’t even plan a dinner party without Regina’s help—Regina is really her only choice. It must be a matter of days, perhaps hours, until Emma asks her, and then…

Even the thought of it brings heat rushing into her chest and makes her free hand curl into a fist. Hours upon hours of choosing dresses, picking the catering, choosing a cake. Days of smiling and pretending that everything is fine, _ just fine. _ Preparing for Emma to spend her entire life with someone who doesn’t deserve her and never, ever will—

The invitation in her hand ignites. She drops it, startled, then stomps out the flames.

It’s been harder to control her magic recently, and she’s not sure what to attribute that to. It could be Robin’s death; it could be her reintegration with the Queen; it could be the wedding. Most likely, it’s a combination of all three. Her perfect nightmare scenario.

Paradoxically, it’s even harder to handle now that there are so few distractions. Not that she’s complaining about that, as she’s rather glad not to be constantly afraid of her and her family getting horribly murdered by some villain of the week; but it does give her lots of free time to think about Emma, and how she feels about her, and how much she hates that she’s marrying someone else…

She sits down and takes some deep breaths, the way Archie taught her. She has to get ahold of herself. If she wants to remain part of Emma’s life, she needs to learn how to keep her feelings under control. Fortunately, she’s prepared for this.

So she gets up, throws out the burned invitation, opens a bottle of wine, and retrieves her folder labeled _ Emma Bridal Shower. _

In one sense, it’s absolutely ridiculous that she, a traumatized ex-villain with historically terrible self-control who happens to be in love with the bride, should put herself anywhere near this wedding. At first she thought she might give it time, hope that her feelings faded away.

But she _ has _given it time. She gave it weeks, months, years… and it hasn’t gotten better. It’s only gotten worse. Avoidance doesn’t help; she thinks about Emma all the time, even when she isn’t near her. Once she realized that, she went through every coping technique Archie had to offer, but nothing worked. She has no patience for meditation, no passion for athletics, no time for therapy, and not enough friends to start a knitting club. She’d go back to counselling, but Archie’s booked nearly solid these days; he’d offered to rearrange things for her, but she’d declined, knowing that the recent reappearance of the Queen was one of the reasons why people have been so anxious. She’d even considered medication, but magic interacts oddly with certain psychoactive substances, and she’d rather not be the first test subject in a potentially doomed experiment.

So, with Emma’s wedding approaching, she chose a new strategy: facing the problem head-on. Every time she’s felt overwhelmed at the thought of Emma getting married, she has focused on the one positive thing about this situation: the fact that it will make Emma happy. And she has channeled all her emotional energy into preparing to make her even happier.

Besides the bachelorette party, the shower is the only wedding-related event she can think of that’s only for Emma, so she thought it would be a good place to begin. She wouldn’t know where to start with the bachelorette party, which she’s always viewed as rather tasteless anyway, but she’s vaguely aware of the requirements for showers: silly games, tacky decorations, gift-giving, and probably some food. All things she can handle.

She chose her own home for the venue; it’s big enough, and she can be sure to keep Emma away from it long enough to prepare everything. She planned a menu of Granny’s pastries, chocolate brownies, and tiny, elegant grilled cheese sandwiches. All finger foods, because Emma likes to snack. Emma’s never been much for decor, so she keeps that simple, but when she finds a series of folded paper swans online, light and delicate, she couldn’t help but order them with a smile.

Emma hates opening gifts while everyone watches her, so Regina sets out a table for guests to leave their unwrapped gifts there. She designates Emma’s favourite chair, a slightly overstuffed leather recliner, as ‘her spot’ and arranges the furniture in a semicircle around it: close enough that Emma can see everyone, but not so close that she feels crowded.

She holds up the folder full of the fruits of her labour and feels, despite everything, a small glow of pride. A year ago, she’d never have been able to accomplish something like this. A year ago, in a situation much like this one—losing Robin; watching Emma move forward in her relationship with Hook—she’d reacted much worse. She’d lashed out, isolated herself, and nearly pushed Emma away forever. But this time, she has refused to do that, and she can see the results.

Maybe, just maybe, she’s getting better.

Regina spends another couple hours holed up in her house, plotting, and when she feels certain she has enough to go on, she drives to the loft to get Snow involved. Snow would never forgive Regina if she left her out entirely, so Regina summons her patience and braces herself to accommodate several awful bird-related decor suggestions.

She expects Snow to be knitting or organizing her kitchen, the way she often does on a Sunday afternoon. But when Snow opens the door, Regina realizes she’s not alone. Her living room is full of people: Ashley, Aurora, Kathryn, Belle, and… Ariel? What is this, book club for Disney princesses?

Snow steps into the doorway, blocking her view. “Regina! What can I do for you?”

“I was planning a bridal shower for Emma and thought I’d coordinate with you,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll have your own ideas for how it should go. But I don’t want to interrupt anything, so if you need me to come back later…”

“You were planning a shower?” Snow sounds surprised and oddly dismayed.

“Yes,” Regina says, confused by her tone. “Why, is that a problem?”

“No, of course not. That’s lovely of you. It’s just…” Snow hesitates, looking anywhere except Regina’s eyes. “We were actually… already planning one.”

“We?”

She spoke too loudly; she knows this from the way Snow flinches back. She glances behind Snow to the people in the living room. They’re all sitting still, clearly listening.

Snow hesitates, probably looking for a way out, but eventually she nods. “Some of my friends and I have been planning a shower for Emma for… well, a few weeks.”

“When were you going to tell me?” Regina asks, fighting to keep herself calm. “Or did it just not occur to you that I might want to help plan a shower for my best friend?”

Snow hesitates, eyes darting around as she grips the door frame. “Em—we—thought you might be… busy.”

“I’m not busy.”

“Well, Emma thought it might be a little insensitive to ask you to plan a wedding so soon after… well, after Robin passed away. But you can come in and help if you like,” she adds hastily, reading the offense on Regina’s face.

“I don’t want to disturb anyone,” Regina says, still trying to process this development. This was Emma’s decision. Emma didn’t want Regina to help with her wedding. Emma doesn’t think she can handle it.

It’s the exact same fear that she herself had, so she can hardly blame Emma. Still, it hurts to think about her best friend deciding to cut her out of the plans for one of the most important days of her life because she wanted to protect her.

Or—and Regina clasps her hands together to keep from curling them into fists—to protect other people _ from _her. She remembers Emma’s face when she said she thought Regina might be the one under the hood, and her stomach twists uncomfortably.

“No, really, we’d be happy to have you.” Snow sounds sincere in the way that only a former royal can, but Regina doesn’t trust it for a second.

Regina almost declines again, but then she reconsiders. There’s no need to be selfish. If there’s some way she can contribute to this discussion, she should do that.

“All right,” she says, and Snow’s smile widens as she lets her in.

While Snow goes to refill the appetizer tray, Regina debates where to sit. None of the princesses seem in any rush to make room. She scans the room for someone who doesn’t have a well-earned personal vendetta against her. Ashley? No, she made her pregnant for 28 years. Kathryn, she had kidnapped. Belle gives her a curt nod but doesn’t look approachable, and Regina honestly doesn’t blame her. Ariel gives her a bigger nod and a brief smile, but still doesn’t look exactly friendly. Regina’s eventual gift to her apparently wasn’t enough to make up for the years of misery she inflicted.

Then she hears, “There’s room over here, Regina.”

She turns to see Aurora, sitting unobtrusively in the corner of the room and smiling genuinely at her. Regina hurries over and sits next to her with relief. Vaguely, she remembers something about Aurora being turned back from a monkey into a person after Regina defeated Zelena. She smiles back, grateful for the friendly company.

The presence of even one person who doesn’t hate her is enough to make her feel slightly lighter, enough that she can put her anger aside to see the humour in the situation. It is rather funny, in a way, that Emma’s shower is being planned by a group of Disney princesses. It’s the kind of thing Emma would laugh at, half amused and half exasperated. Regina’s smile grows at the thought.

But as she looks over the binders and photographs spread out on the coffee table, her heart sinks. The plans are exactly as gorgeous as one would expect from a roomful of princesses. Most of the group has been formally trained in event planning, and it shows in the coordinated decor, the understated-yet-handsome colour scheme, and the precision of the timetable. Everything appears polished, thoroughly considered… and nothing at all like Emma. The plans are for a princess’s dream wedding, but though Emma may technically be a princess, there is no way she would enjoy this.

Snow sets down a tray of partially-defrosted shrimp and clears her throat. “Well, before you arrived, Regina, we were going around and discussing what we’ve come up with within our individual departments. Most of the jobs are filled, but I’m sure we could find something for you…”

Regina’s barely listening. “Emma hates caviar,” she says.

“Pardon me?” Snow asks.

Regina points at the catering binder. “On the canapés. Emma doesn’t like caviar.” Regina had served it to her once when she was over for dinner. Her expression of distaste had been truly memorable.

“Oh.” Snow blinks. “Well, we’ll certainly take that into consideration.”

“And flowers,” she says, pointing at a photograph in the _ Decor _folder. “She doesn’t like the smell of roses. She’d prefer lilies, or lilacs.”

Even as she says it, she knows her suggestions are useless. This entire shower is a disaster; fixing it would require an overhaul of nearly everything they’d come up with.

“Thank you for your input,” Aurora says formally, a note of annoyance beneath the cultured tone.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add?” Belle asks politely.

Regina looks up to see a ring of annoyed yet pitying faces staring at her. In their eyes, she realizes, she is an intruder here, no more welcome than she was at Snow and Charming’s wedding.

She feels her anger rising. She may be Emma’s best friend, her co-parent, her magic partner. But to these people, she will never stop being the Evil Queen, the woman incapable of wishing for someone else’s happiness when she had none of her own.

It’s too much. Sitting here in front of Snow and a group of ex-royals, most of whom hate her for very good reason. People attempting to condescend to her, _ delegate _to her, like they know better than she does about what her best friend would like.

Her best friend, who didn’t want her to know she was planning her wedding.

Her best friend, who apparently sees her the same way all these women do. Volatile, vindictive, out of control…

Snow looks at her hand, alarmed, and Regina realizes the sheet of paper is starting to smoke. She immediately puts it down, checks that nothing was damaged, then stands, forcing herself to smile. “It seems as though you have things well in hand,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “I think I’ll leave you to it.”

There’s only one coping strategy she can use at this point: getting out before she can cause more damage. So that’s what she does. She sweeps out of the loft as quickly as she can, her head held high. As she descends the stairs, she hears the loft door open and close. “Regina, wait,” Snow calls.

She stops reluctantly and turns. “Yes?”

“I don’t… I mean, is everything…”

_ Is everything okay, _ is what she’s trying to ask with all her hand-wringing and concerned eyebrows. And Regina knows that with Snow—with most people, really—there is only one correct answer.

She pushes the hurt down into a ball deep in her chest, tucked away where it can’t hurt anyone except her, and she smiles. “It’s fine,” she says. “Everything is absolutely fine.”

She makes it outside before the tears come.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Emma smiles to emphasize her words, the words she’s said countless times already in this session. “Everything’s great. No sleep problems, no flashbacks, no anything.”

As discreetly as possible, she checks her watch. Five minutes left. She forces her foot to stop jiggling and crosses one leg over the other.

“That’s wonderful,” Archie says. “I’m so glad to hear that.” He checks his watch. “We’re almost out of time here, but is there anything we haven’t touched on that you’d like to bring up before we go?”

“I don’t think so,” Emma says. “I don’t think there’s anything.”

Archie looks at his notepad. “You haven’t mentioned Regina yet. Would you like to—”

“No, it’s fine,” Emma says quickly. “Everything’s fine with Regina.”

“Good,” Archie says. “Well, if there’s nothing else, we can certainly—”

“Is it normal to feel nervous about getting married?”

Emma isn’t sure where that come from; she hadn’t intended to ask it. But now that the question is out there, she can feel how badly she wants to know the answer.

“Of course,” Archie says. “Absolutely normal.”

“Oh.” She nods. “Good. That’s… good.”

“Would you like to talk about why you’re nervous?” Archie asks gently.

She doesn’t know why. She’s never been good with feelings, either identifying them or describing them. But, well, she’s here. She paid for it and she came all the way here, so she might as well make the most of it.

“I guess… sometimes we argue,” she says, feeling a bit vulnerable. “Sometimes we don’t tell each other stuff. It comes out in the end, but still. We make mistakes. We have to forgive each other for things. I have to… we have to work hard at our relationship sometimes.” Unlike her parents. Unlike most of the other couples she knows.

“This is actually a concern I hear quite often,” Archie says. “Mostly from royalty who are concerned that their lives here don’t match up with what they feel they should be. Trust me, Emma, you’re not alone.”

She can feel her shoulders relax. “So it’s normal. For things to be a little hard.”

“I would say so,” Archie says gently. “But if you’re concerned, if you feel like you’re working harder than you’d like to, I wouldn’t want you to think—”

“No, this is great. Thanks.” It’s such a relief to hear that, when everything between them has felt so difficult recently. It’s the wedding stress getting to them. They’ve never had to deal with this kind of challenge together before, and, well… it’s getting to them. Just a little.

It had been easy between them at one point, a long time ago. She kind of thought they’d get that easiness back once she stopped being the Dark One. Once she got him out of hell. Once she moved in with him. Once they got engaged…

Turns out she’s going to have to work a bit harder. But that’s okay. Relationships take work; her parents say that all the time. And her parents are literally Snow White and Prince Charming, so, yeah. They probably know what they’re talking about.

Archie checks his watch. “I think we’re out of time, but let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

By the time he’s finished the sentence, Emma’s already standing. She thanks him and leaves, nearly tripping as she jogs down the stairs.

It’s not that she hates therapy. Therapy is fine. It was helpful, for a while, but she’s fine now, and she wants everything to go back to normal. She doesn’t love being trapped in a room where she once confessed her own impending doom. Even though her impending doom didn’t actually happen, being back there still feels like… bad luck, somehow.

As Emma leaves Archie’s building, her phone rings. It’s Killian. She picks up right away. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, and his low rumbly voice is soothingly familiar. “How was therapy?”

“Fine. How was your afternoon?”

“Excellent. Great catch today,” he says enthusiastically, and Emma groans internally, anticipating his next question.

She’s not wrong. “How would you like me to prepare it tonight?” Killian asks.

They’ve had fish six times in the past two weeks. “Actually, I’m already out,” Emma says. “I’ll just go grab something for us.”

“It’s raining. Come home. We’ll order in.” She can hear his frown through the phone line.

“Honestly, I’d be happy for the chance to stretch my legs. I’ve been cooped up at home for so long. You know how I need to get out.”

It makes her feel bad, not wanting to be around him, but after all that time in the hospital with him waiting on her almost constantly—and she’s so lucky, really, she is, to have a fiancé who would do that for her—she just needs some time alone. That’s normal, right? Anyone would need that.

“All right, love, if you like.” The disappointment in his voice cuts at her, but before she can change her mind, take it back and make the right choice, he’s hung up.

She shakes it off. He’ll sulk about it for a minute when she brings home the food, and then he’ll apologize and they’ll eat together and it’ll be fine.

By the time she arrives at Granny’s, it’s raining so hard that even in the short distance between her car and her diner, she gets soaked. She places her order and tries not to drip all over the counter.

After Granny takes her order, with only a slightly raised eyebrow as comment on her drenched state, Emma leans against the counter and surveys the diner. Granny’s is packed, like it always is on a Friday night: families celebrating the weekend, couples on dates, even a single woman reading the paper. And there, in the corner…

They haven’t spotted her. Henry, working on homework, and Regina, sitting across from him. Henry’s got his binder and textbook spread out in front of him, along with a chocolate shake and the remnants of a burger. Regina’s got most of a sandwich and a napkin sprinkled with brownie crumbs. They must be working on math; Regina doesn’t eat that much sugar all at once unless she’s stressed about something.

It’s Regina who sees her first. Her tired face breaks into a grin, and she says something to Henry, who looks over and sees her too. He grins back and waves her over.

It’s been too long since she’s seen both of them. Which is, again, her fault. She’d asked Henry to stay with Regina while she recovered, knowing that Regina would look after him better and she probably needed him more. She’s been more withdrawn since Robin died, laughing at fewer jokes and sticking to her own company most of the time—Henry excepted, of course—and especially avoiding Emma and Hook. Storybrooke’s latest shiny happy power couple, as far as everyone knows.

Emma can’t really blame her.

Now, though, Regina smiles at her. “Look who decided to make a reappearance,” she says warmly, and it makes Emma’s chest ache.

She gestures to a chair. “Can I…”

“Of course,” Regina says, as though it’s obvious that Emma would be welcome. Warmth flickers in her chest, just for a moment.

Emma sits in the chair across from them. “How’s the math coming?” she asks Henry.

“It’s trigonometry, and it sucks,” he says. “I don’t know any of this.”

She examines the paper, the lines and angles. “Hey, this looks familiar,” she says in surprise.

“Are you sure?” Henry asks, his tone skeptical.

“Yeah, we did it together, in New York. Remember?”

Henry still looks confused, and she starts to worry that she’s remembering it wrong. Maybe this was one of the fake memories Regina gave her. Maybe it never happened, maybe it wasn’t really her—

No, it was Central Park. It was definitely New York.

Definitely real.

“Oh yeah,” Henry says, and he and Emma share a smile. “I’m just catching up on a lot since I’ve been away from school for a while.”

Emma’s smile fades. Of course he’s behind, because of Camelot, because of the Underworld.

Because of her.

“Can I help?” She looks at Regina, worried about intruding on their time together. “Not to imply that you haven’t got this, or…”

“No, please, help as much as you like,” Regina says dryly. “This is hardly my area of expertise.”

“Unlike literally everything else,” Emma says, but she feels a small glow of pride. It’s nice to be useful.

She tries to look at Henry’s papers, but he shakes his head. “Mom and I can handle this,” he says. “I know you probably want to get back to Killian before your food gets cold.” He doesn’t look upset. Somehow, that makes it worse.

“I can make time for this,” Emma insists. She looks to Regina for support, but Regina’s looking off into the distance, her forehead wrinkled like she’s holding in stress.

“Really, it’s fine,” Henry says. Before Emma can insist, prove that she’s worthy of helping, he takes another sip of his shake, only to find that it’s empty. “I’m gonna get a refill,” he says.

He dashes off before he can get a reply, squeezing behind Regina’s chair. He was probably worried Regina would say no, but he didn’t need to be. Regina’s still lost in thought.

“You okay?” Emma asks softly.

Regina looks up and shakes herself a bit. “Yes, of course. I’m fine.”

She doesn’t look fine. But before Emma can press, Regina smiles at her. “You know, if you ever get tired of fish and takeout, you’re always welcome to have dinner with me and Henry,” she says softly. After a pause, she adds, somewhat grudgingly, “Hook is, of course, invited as well.”

The day Emma puts her fiancé and her best friend around the same table for dinner will be the day she feels like destroying said table. “That sounds really, uh, nice,” she says. “I can’t this week though. Tomorrow I’ve got dinner with my parents, and on Monday, I’ve got… a thing.”

Regina raises her eyebrows. “Wedding planning?”

Emma’s heart drops at the accusatory, hurt look on Regina’s face, underneath the mask of indifference. “How did you know about that?”

Regina scoffs, breaking her gaze. “Please. I’m the mayor. It’s my job to know everything that goes on in this town.”

Emma wants to kick herself. She genuinely hadn’t thought about what might happen if—when—Regina found out about her wedding planning.

It’s just, ever since Emma announced her engagement—hell, ever since she started dating Hook—Regina has been uncomfortable with him, and uncomfortable with them together.

It’s not hard to understand why. Emma would probably feel the same way if she had a friend who got everything she wanted, all the time, when she kept having her own happy ending stolen. Usually because of said friend, who also promised to make her happy and then completely failed to follow through. Sure, she’d said she was happy for her, and Emma doesn’t think that was entirely a lie… but she hadn’t exactly looked happy.

Sometimes Emma’s surprised that Regina’s still talking to her.

“Look, Regina, I’m really sorry, I—”

“You don’t have to justify anything,” Regina says coolly, not meeting her gaze. “Of course you should do whatever you want. It’s your wedding. If you want your mother to be your maid of honour, that’s your choice. Although if your ring is carried up the aisle by live birds, I will never let either of you live it down.”

“I didn’t pick her,” Emma says. “I was going to ask you, I just thought…” She pauses, ignoring Granny signaling to her that her order is ready. “I just thought you had enough going on. And after everything with, you know, Robin…”

Regina can’t really want this job. It wouldn’t be good for her, not when it makes her so miserable just to be around Emma and Hook. But she looks so hurt, so sad, that Emma feels bad anyway.

“I understand,” Regina says quietly. “But I would be able to handle it.” The words come out in a rush, and she looks at Emma with pleading eyes. “I do want you to be happy, Emma.”

Emma’s phone buzzes in her pocket: probably Killian, wondering what’s taking her so long.

“And I’m not that busy,” Regina adds. “Now that our town is villain-free, my job is rather dull again.” She smiles, clearly trying to inject some levity into the conversation.

“Would you really enjoy it?” Emma asks. “Picking out flower arrangements with my mom and her baby club friends? It doesn’t really seem like your thing.”

“I designed an entire town from scratch,” Regina says, sounding offended. “I can handle a few flower arrangements.”

It’s hard to argue with that. 

“And you wouldn’t mind being in charge of a bunch of people you don’t know that well?” Emma hedges. Her phone buzzes again.

Regina raises her eyebrows, looking like she honestly hadn’t considered this angle. “You think I’d have a problem with bossing people around?”

It’s also hard to argue with that.

Despite her intentions, despite her best instincts, Emma considers offering Regina the job. Snow’s already handling most of the work, so Regina wouldn’t even have to do that much. Emma could ask her to handle the stuff she herself couldn’t get to, so Regina wouldn’t be distracting to her.

And Regina clearly wants the job very badly. Regina is her friend. Emma doesn’t have an excuse for not giving her this job.

Well, she does. She’s given Regina the truth, but not the whole truth. There’s another reason why she didn’t ask her to be maid of honour—a reason Regina can never know.

But… Regina’s sitting there right now, looking so hurt but trying to hide it, and Emma just knows she’s going to go home wondering what she did that made her not good enough. She’s going to beat herself up about it and come to a million wrong conclusions, all because Emma couldn’t explain why she can’t have Regina around her.

And that’s just not okay, no matter what else comes of it.

She takes a deep breath. “Regina. Do you want to be my maid of honour?”

Regina smiles slightly, clearly pleased to be asked, but there’s some trepidation in her eyes. Like maybe she didn’t expect to get this far, and she’s not sure what to do.

“You can say no,” Emma says. “I won’t be offended. You’re still invited to the wedding. You won’t have to gatecrash.”

She says it lightly, an attempt at humour, and she’s not sure why Regina’s face falls until she remembers what happened at the last wedding she went to. “I’m sorry,” Emma says, feeling like an idiot. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Regina says, pursing her lips in a facsimile of a smile, and not looking at her.

“Regina…”

“I’d love to do it.” When she looks back at Emma, there’s a new resolve in her eyes. “But only if it’s what you want,” she says carefully.

Emma smiles at her as her phone buzzes yet again. “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

It’s the truth, even if she’s exaggerating how much she actually cares about it. As far as she’s concerned, all this wedding planning stuff is just there to get her to the wedding. But if it means a lot to Regina, then of course Emma wants it to be her.

Regina still looks concerned, and a bit like she already regrets this, but she smiles. “You do need a queen on your planning team,” she says with a hint of her usual sass. “Someone to break up the squad of Disney princesses you’ve assembled.”

“Squad of…” Huh, she’s not wrong. Emma hadn’t really thought about it that way before. “Yeah, I guess.”

She’s not sure why Regina furrows her brow as though Emma’s said something wrong, why she’s looking at her with growing concern.

“How are you?” Regina asks after a pause, and the way she asks it, Emma can tell she actually wants to know the answer.

“I’m fine,” Emma asks, resisting the urge to drum her fingers against the table. “I’m good. Feeling a lot better.”

Regina looks at her skeptically. Henry comes back with his shake and sits down next to them.

Emma’s phone buzzes for the fourth time. And suddenly she feels bad, sitting there with two people who don’t need her when there’s someone at home who does.

“I should go,” she says reluctantly. “Thanks for letting me crash your study session.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Regina says. “We were happy to see you.”

Emma stands up, then pauses and looks at Regina seriously. “If you change your mind about the maid of honour thing, that’s fine. Just let me know. I won’t be hurt.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Regina says, and she smiles like she’s trying to mean it.

But Emma can tell, just from looking at her, that Regina never will. Which is going to make Emma's job harder. Not only will she have to figure out a way to keep Regina’s presence from throwing her off her game, she also needs to make sure Regina’s doing okay, and not just saying she is.

Already, she can feel the responsibility pressing down on her. Which is silly because she doesn’t even have that many responsibilities. She has barely anything to do, and she can’t even manage that, can’t even…

She’ll figure it out, though. She will.

For Regina, she will.


	2. Chapter 2

Regina closes her eyes and sighs. She’s trying to keep her cool, she really is. But this is the fourth meeting she’s had about the shower, and approximately the eighteenth time they’ve had this debate, and they are making no progress whatsoever.

“What’s wrong with a princess theme?” Aurora asks with all the indignance of a highborn woman used to getting her way. “Emma’s a princess.”

“It’s just the shower,” Ariel points out. “It’s not the actual wedding.”

“Still,” Regina says as patiently as she can manage, “I think we should at least consider something else.”

She hadn’t exactly pictured things going this way. She’d been counting on at least getting to see Emma more often as a perk of this job. But on Regina’s first day as maid of honour, Emma took her aside. They should split up the work, she said. Divide and conquer, because of the time crunch. She and Snow could handle most of the non-shower stuff, and Regina could do the shower, because that was something she’d already worked on, as well as a few other things like the cake.

Regina could hardly say no. This is Emma’s wedding, after all; she is in charge, and Regina is flattered that Emma trusts her to make decisions without constantly consulting her. And yet…

Well, for one thing, she didn’t expect to end up with the most stubborn princesses in the Disney line. That isn’t exactly making this easier.

“I know Emma,” she says. “I don’t mean to offend, but I know her better than any of you. And I know she would want something more casual than what you have planned. I think we can all agree that we should do what’s best for Emma, can’t we?”

Aurora crosses her arms. “I see your point, Regina, but I still don’t think we should change the theme. The shower’s in a few days. We just don’t have time.”

“Well, maybe we can look at our options,” Regina says tersely. She thinks she’s starting to get a headache.

“We could do a spa theme,” Ashley says, scrolling through her phone, which has been on her lap for the full duration of the meeting. “Or a beach theme? Ooh, or a ‘nautical affair.’ That sounds fun.”

“I vote for the nautical one,” Ariel says. “We could have a pirate cake. And seashell decorations! And I have some fish friends who can do excellent acrobatic tricks. I’m sure they would do me a favour if I asked nicely.”

The other princesses _ooh _and nod in agreement. Regina pinches the bridge of her nose. “Seeing as how this shower is for Emma, I think we should base our plans on her interests.”

Ariel blinks up at her innocently. “But Emma _ is _interested in pirates.”

Doesn’t she know it. “But _ she’s _not a pirate.”

“Exactly,” Aurora says. “She’s a princess.”

“We could combine them!” Ariel says in her typical over-excited manner. “Half the shower is pirate-themed and half is princess-themed. To symbolize their relationship. Two worlds, star-crossed lovers…” She sighs dreamily.

“I don’t think so,” Regina says curtly. The day she has to plan a his-and-hers pirate-and-princess bridal shower will be the day she actually loses it.

The princesses glare back at her, varying degrees of resentment in their delicate features. Regina knows it can’t have been pleasant for them to plan their dream wedding under the patient, if disorganized, leadership of Snow White, then suddenly find themselves answering to a woman they despise. She’s aware that she hasn’t been the most patient or encouraging maid of honour, that she’s exercised her veto power a little more often than would be considered polite, that her management style has tended more towards the side of _ Evil Queen _ than _ Madame Mayor._

She also doesn’t care. They can hate her all they want, as long as they help her plan a shower Emma will actually enjoy.

“Well, if we’re changing the theme, I don’t know what you want us to do about all the decorations we’ve already ordered,” Aurora says finally.

It’s a valid complaint, unfortunately. “I don’t know,” Regina admits. “We can brainstorm that later. In the meantime, does anyone have any other concerns to bring up?” A topic change seems badly needed at this point, judging by the increasingly mutinous look on Aurora’s face.

Ashley looks up from her phone. “Oh, I totally forgot to mention this earlier, but the wedding cake we’ve ordered isn’t going to be large enough.”

That baffles Regina as she’d personally made sure it should be. She’d even had Henry double-check the math for her. “Since when?”

“A couple days ago. I was talking with some of my co-workers, and they mentioned the wedding, and I found out they hadn’t been invited, so I invited them.” She says it like it’s the obvious thing to do.

Damn princesses and their damn hospitality. “This was supposed to be a _ small _wedding.”

“The venue has room. And it is technically a royal wedding,” Ashley says, frowning at the expression on Regina’s face. “Honestly, I thought the guest list was kind of small. The custom is to invite several—”

“I don’t care what the custom is,” Regina says. She’s definitely getting a headache. “Emma doesn’t like large crowds.”

“It’s not a large crowd,” Ashley protests. “It’s just a few more people.”

“How many is a few? Two? Three?”

Ashley tilts her head to the side, thinking. “Uh, about eleven? No, ten. Definitely ten.” She nods confidently, then frowns. “Or was it twelve?”

“Twelve people is not a few!” Regina grips the chair in front of her to keep from shouting. “Emma wanted a small wedding.”

“I told Emma I invited more people. She said it was fine. And she’s the bride,” Ashley says, as though Regina might have forgotten.

Regina doesn’t doubt that Ashley is telling the truth, but she does doubt that Emma’s response was motivated by anything other than politeness. “I think Emma has quite enough to deal with without handling unexpected invites.”

“She really does,” Aurora says, surprising Regina with her support. Regina smiles at her gratefully until she says, “We should be handling more for her. Like the dress, for example.” She starts flipping through one of the many binders on the table.

“The dress seems like a personal thing,” Regina says quickly. “I think we should wait for Emma.”

“Well, we can at least give her some options.” Aurora thrusts the binder at her, open to a page near the end. “Snow gave me this.”

Regina takes it and looks at the dress. Immediately, she knows it won’t be suitable. She’s never gotten a direct opinion from Emma on her own clothing preferences; they were never the kind of friends who would talk about that sort of thing. But she’s never, ever seen Emma wear anything like the dress Aurora is presenting to her. On the few occasions Regina saw her dressed for a date with Killian, she wore something looser, more vibrant. This dress looks… conservative, delicate, constricting. It’s not designed to let the wearer move, or even really breathe.

Regina hands the binder back to Aurora. “Perhaps we could consider options that are a bit… looser? Not so flashy.”

Aurora’s delicate brows knit together. “This is a very traditional design for a wedding gown, at least back home,” she says, and Regina can tell she’s trying to be polite. “Are things different here?”

“No, but Emma’s not very traditional,” Regina explains. “She’s…” Unique. Bold. Stubborn. Radiant. Luminous. “She likes to do things her own way.”

Aurora presses her lips together, looking like she wants to protest, but she eventually nods without comment.

The rest of the meeting goes generally the same way, and by the time they break for the day, Regina’s exhausted. She’d thought at first that it might feel satisfying, but it’s only been draining: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Her helpers aren’t incompetent—most of the time—but their ideas are so off-base, so different from what Emma would actually want, that Regina is constantly fighting some battle or another.

It’s not even arguing over the shower that makes this truly horrible for her. It’s the rest of it. Even though Snow and Emma have taken on many of the non-shower duties, the time crunch means that Regina is dealing with things like wedding decorations and catering, which means she has to think about Hook’s interests as well as Emma’s, which brings home the fact that she is doing this so he can be happy, so Emma can be happy with him…

The lights flicker. Regina forces herself to sit and take deep breaths until she feels slightly more calm.

She knows this shower is not as big a deal as she feels it is. Emma would probably be pleased with the shower the princesses are concocting, simply because she would be touched by their efforts. But Regina doesn’t just want Emma to be pleased. She wants to make her face light up when she sees what they’ve done for her. The idea of falling short of that because a bunch of princesses wanted to follow their own plans is… unthinkable.

She can’t fly off the handle here. She’s already close; she knows that. Snow keeps asking her if she’s okay. She’s been able to blame most of her stress on wedding planning, but if she loses control and dumps something in one of the princesses’ faces, that might crack her facade a little.

She hears the door open, and she opens her eyes. It’s Emma, here to check in with her, the way she does at the end of every day. She claims it’s to keep them coordinated about the wedding plans, but Regina wonders sometimes if it’s to make sure she’s still up to the task of being maid of honour. That she’s not going to lose it.

Either way, Regina can’t deny that she’s happy to see her.

“Hey,” Emma says. “How’s it going for you?”

“Oh, the usual,” Regina says, and she barely suppresses an eye roll. Even having Emma around makes it easier, helps her feel more calm. “How are things on your end?”

“Fine,” Emma says. “Well, I’m currently trying to talk my mom out of getting live doves as entertainment for the reception, but other than that, everything’s fine.”

“That does sound like her,” Regina muses, and they share a smile.

Emma’s smile fades quickly. “Is something wrong?” she asks, because Regina can’t fool her, not for a second.

“It’s the princesses,” Regina says, and it’s not even a lie, not really.

“Oh? What are they doing now?”

Regina decides not to go into all the details. “Well, for one thing, they still haven’t added me to the group Instagram. I know they’ve got one,” she says, glaring at Emma, who looks amused. “They all keep looking at their phones during meetings.”

“You don’t even have Instagram,” Emma points out.

“Still,” Regina says. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“They’ll warm up to you.” Even Emma she looks like she doubts what she’s saying.

Regina sighs. “They’ve been complaining about me, haven’t they?”

“They’ve mentioned that you’re a little… intense,” Emma says carefully.

“You can tell them you tried to stop me, and it didn’t work,” Regina says.

Emma looks at her steadily. “Actually, I told them that you’re my best friend and what you say goes.”

“I suppose they didn’t like that,” Regina says, trying not to smile too hard at that.

“They’ll live.” Emma grins at her then, and Regina allows herself to return it.

“I’m making tea,” Regina says, as she’s done for the past few days. “Would you like to join me?”

Emma hesitates for a second, looks like she might say yes—for once—but then she shakes her head. “I should get going,” she says. “Don’t stress too much about the shower, okay? I don’t need it to be, you know…” She smiles wryly. “Fairy tale perfect, or anything.”

“But you deserve that,” Regina says.

Emma tilts her head. “I’m not sure that’s ever been me.”

“That’s what I keep telling them,” Regina says. She _ knew _Emma would never approve of any of those ridiculous ideas.

“I’m more… princess adjacent, I guess.” Before Emma walks out the door, she turns back to Regina. “You know I’ll love whatever you come up with,” she says quietly. “And don’t let the princesses get you down.”

“I’m a queen,” Regina says with a quirk of her eyebrows. “I would never.”

Emma grins at that, then leaves. Regina laughs to herself, already feeling lighter, and plays Emma’s words over in her mind. _ Princess adjacent. _ It’s a good way to describe her.

The words spark an idea. She smiles more broadly and grabs a notepad.

She might just have a theme.

  
  


Emma studies her fiancé’s face while he sleeps. It’s peaceful, happy, and she feels a faint glow of satisfaction. Fainter than she would like it to be, but it’s there.

It lingers for a few moments longer, and then it fades, like it always does.

She closes her eyes. If she focuses really hard on the softness of the sheets and the soft breathing beside her and the faint light filtering through the blinds, through her eyelids…

Maybe if she stays a bit longer… tries a bit harder…

Killian grunts in his sleep, and his arm tightens around her. She’s too hot suddenly—or maybe not suddenly; maybe it’s crept up on her. The room is warm, even without her clothes on. It’s a stifling kind of warmth, created by their body heat only, since it’s cool outside.

She tries to tell herself she’s fine, that it doesn’t bother her, but she grows more uncomfortable the longer she stays there, until she’s itching to get up and move.

It seems cold to duck out on him. It’s the kind of thing the old her would do: cut and run right after sex. No time to enjoy the afterglow.

But then, she’s not cutting and running. She’s going to come back.

Besides, if she falls asleep now, when she’s so restless, she’ll probably just toss and turn all night and jab Killian with her elbow or something. He’ll be better off if she can work off some of this energy.

That settles it. She carefully removes herself from under his arm, gets up from the bed—careful not to let it creak—and dresses slowly in the dark. She kind of wants to shower, but the noise would wake him up.

She should do chores, or catch up on her paperwork, or look at wedding decorations. Make herself useful somehow. But her legs are restless, and her brain is tired. Against her better judgement, she grabs her keys and heads for the door.

Then she stops, goes back, and scribbles a note: _ Went for a walk, back soon. -E _<3

Last time, she was twenty minutes across town before she remembered she should have left a note, and when she went to text Hook, she found a dozen increasingly worried messages from him. It’s not easy, always having to consider what he’ll think and what he’ll want. Relationships are an adjustment; that’s what people say. But maybe she’s finally getting the hang of this whole thing.

(She better be. It’s about damn time.)

She tapes the note to the fridge and escapes into the chilly evening air. The sun is going down, and it’s a little too cold today to go out without a coat, but she doesn’t mind. She wanders around town, not really paying attention to where she’s going. Instead, she takes in the houses, the storefronts, the first autumn leaves on the ground, the smell of woodsmoke and exhaust. She doesn’t think about her destination until she finds herself turning onto Mifflin for absolutely no reason.

Emma sighs, disappointed with herself. It’s probably a holdover from that very small but important stretch of time where she went to Regina’s house nearly every day, helping her with Operation Mongoose or having dinner or just talking. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t have to.

She allows herself a moment of looking, then turns and walks quickly in the opposite direction. If she doesn’t plan a route, she’ll probably end up outside the Mayor’s office or the vault or something, just from muscle memory. So she sets herself a destination: her parents’ loft. Her dad is scheduled for patrol, she’s pretty sure, but she could have a cup of tea with her mom. Maybe they could even talk about something that’s not her wedding for a change.

Not that she has a problem with talking about her wedding. It would just be nice to find out what else is going on in her mom’s life. That’s all.

The cold starts to get to her, so she speeds up. It’s not long before she reaches the loft and knocks on the door.

“I’m not expecting anyone,” she hears her mom say, her voice muffled by the door.

“Are you sure?” And oh, Emma knows that voice. Her stomach drops, but before she can retreat, she hears footsteps.

Snow opens the door. “Emma! Come in, we were just—” She pauses and looks down, then politely away.

“What?” Emma asks.

“You’ve got…” Still without looking, Snow gestures vaguely in the direction of Emma’s chest. Emma looks down to see that she’s buttoned up her shirt wrong.

She flushes, turning away and quickly adjusting the buttons. When she’s done, she glances over to see Regina sitting at the table and staring into her mug of tea, her hands gripping it so tightly her knuckles are white. Her eyes are cool, unreadable.

Snow coughs. “I’m glad you’re here, Emma. We were just talking about wedding dresses. Regina and I have some ideas.”

“Your mother has some ideas,” Regina corrects her, still without looking at Emma. “I, on the other hand, object to this discussion taking place without you.” She glares at Snow, who shrugs and grins sheepishly.

Actually, Emma would love for all this discussion to happen without her. But she’s here now, so she gives up on her hopes of having a nice, non-wedding-related conversation with her mother and puts on a smile. “I don’t mind. What are your ideas?”

“I was thinking…” Snow looks strangely shy for a second. “I was wondering if you might want to wear my old wedding dress.”

This is new. “You still have it?”

Snow takes out her phone and pulls up a slightly blurry shot of a wedding dress. It’s sleeveless, with white trim dangling down the neckline, and the skirt seems to be made of feathers. It’s exactly her mom’s style… and not at all Emma’s.

“Belle found it in the back of Gold’s shop. I know it’s old, and of course I’ll understand if you want something that’s just yours, but I wanted to offer it to you just in case.” Snow’s voice is casual but nervous; clearly, this means more than she’s trying to let on.

It’s not a hard choice at all. “Of course I’ll wear it,” Emma says. “I’d love to.” A split second too late, she remembers to smile.

Snow beams, thankfully not having noticed her mistake. “Let me show it to you,” she says, and hurries up the stairs.

This leaves Emma standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. She glances at Regina, who is scanning the binder with a focus too intense to be real.

“You know you don’t have to wear Snow’s old dress just to make her happy,” Regina says quietly, still flipping through the binder and not looking at her.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I can talk her out of it if you want. You can leave that to me.”

“It’s fine, really. I don’t mind.”

Regina looks up and finally meets her eyes. “You shouldn’t just not mind. You should get something you can be happy with.”

“I am happy with it,” Emma says absently. Regina’s makeup is impeccable as always, but there’s a tension in her face that tells Emma she’s been having a rough time. Guilt settles uncomfortably in her gut. It’s the wedding planning; it’s got to be. Henry would have told her about anything else.

“In case you change your mind,” Regina says after a long pause, “there’s another dress we were looking at. Can I show you?” There’s something in her voice Emma can’t quite identify. Another sign of stress?

“Sure,” Emma says, moving to sit opposite her friend. She’s not planning to change her mind, not if wearing her mom’s old dress makes her so happy, so this doesn’t really make a difference.

While Regina pages through the binder, Emma notes the pinched look of her mouth, the tightness around her eyes. But she’ll never admit that planning this wedding is hurting her, and Emma can’t just ask her to step down. She’ll get offended again.

Regina stops on a page near the end of the binder. “What do you think?” Her eyes move from the binder to Emma’s face, waiting for her verdict.

Emma looks at the dress. It’s very… lacy, especially near the top, and everything is long: the skirt, the sleeves, the veil. “My mom likes this?” she asks, surprised. She’d always got the impression her mother wanted her to look more open, more “walls-down,” and this dress suggests the opposite.

When she doesn’t hear an answer, Emma looks back at Regina, but her friend’s expression doesn’t give away what she thinks of the dress, if anything. Emma shrugs uncomfortably, not sure what’s expected of her. “It’s nice? I can have this as a backup.”

She doesn’t want to stress Regina out any more, after all.

Regina narrows her eyes, just slightly. “Which aspects of it do you like? Just so I know,” she adds quickly, her voice still that awful fake casual, “so I can keep your preferences in mind.”

Nothing. There is nothing Emma likes or dislikes about the dress, but she needs to come up with something; the concerned look in Regina’s eyes tells her so. “I… like that it has long sleeves?” she offers. “We’re having the wedding outdoors, right, so I should wear something a bit warmer.”

She doesn’t realize her mistake until Regina’s eyebrows fly up. “Long sleeves,” she says slowly. “I see. Anything else?”

There’s a challenging note in her voice that makes Emma nervous. “I’m not so concerned about what I wear, to be honest,” she says, trying to keep her voice light. “I care more about other stuff. Like the food.” She smiles.

“You haven’t given me much to go on for that either,” Regina says, and Emma finally identifies the tone of her voice as confused. Confused, and worried.

Emma’s smile falters. “You have my notes.”

“I have your mother’s notes,” Regina corrects her. “I have barely anything from you. Unless you plan to convince me that”—she flips through the papers—“dove-shaped sugar biscuits were your idea.”

“Well, you don’t have to pick that,” she says defensively. “I mean, _ we _don’t have to pick that.”

Regina looks at her, visibly weighing her words, and Emma shifts uncomfortably. She’s getting that prickly, cornered-rat feeling, the same one she had whenever she was put on the spot at school or in front of a social worker. The feeling that she’s being tested and isn’t getting the answer right.

Regina must notice her discomfort because she softens her gaze and leans forward, reaching out but not quite touching Emma’s hand. “Emma, I—”

Before she can finish, Snow comes bustling down the stairs. She’s cradling a poofy, feathery mass of white fabric, which unfolds into a dress when she holds it up for Emma’s approval. “What do you think of this?”

It’s exactly as feathery as it looked in the picture, and even from across the room, it smells like dust and mothballs. Emma smiles anyway and walks over to it, pretending to admire it. “I love it,” she says, injecting her voice with all the enthusiasm she knows she should feel.

Snow lays the dress carefully on the back of a chair and grips Emma’s hands, overcome with emotion. “I’m so proud of you, Emma. Your father and I are both so proud. I’ve seen how much you’ve grown, let your walls down, and I know that was hard for you. But I’m so glad you can be happy.” Her mouth curves up in a wobbly smile. “We’re always proud of you. I just want you to know that.”

“I know, Mom.” And she does know that, even as she knows that the always her mom talks about isn’t the _ always _ she thinks it means. Even as she knows it never will be.

Snow pulls her into a long hug. Emma returns it, patting her on the back and looking over at Regina on instinct, the way she always does when her mom gets a bit too emotional. But instead of exchanging a fond eye-roll with her, Regina’s studying her intently, a slight frown on her face. Emma looks away.

When Snow releases her from the hug, she keeps her hands on Emma’s shoulders. “Now that that’s settled, do you want to help us choose the cake?” she asks brightly.

_ More _wedding stuff? “Actually,” Emma says, politely stepping out of Snow’s hold, “I think I should get back home. It’s getting late.”

“I’ll walk you back,” Regina says immediately, standing up from the table.

Emma’s stomach twists. “Regina, you don’t have to do that.”

“I have to leave anyway,” Regina says. “I should get back to Henry. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, of course not,” she says, trying to sound casual. Of course she minds. This is a terrible idea, but she can’t think of a way to decline without sounding horribly rude. And she’s offended Regina quite enough recently.

They walk down the stairs together. Once outside, Emma starts shivering almost immediately, and for the first time, she regrets her lack of a jacket. It’s colder now than it was a while ago.

It’s silent between them for a long time. Emma tries to tell herself it’s not an awkward silence, but there’s a tension between them that never used to be there. Emma’s fault, she’s sure, but she doesn’t know how to fix it. Her heart beats steadily faster, dreading the time when Regina will break the silence. Regina keeps looking sideways at her like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. Not yet.

Finally, Regina looks at her directly, opens her mouth—then pauses, reconsidering whatever she’d been about to say. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine,” Emma says. “I don’t mind.”

Regina watches her with concern for a moment, then takes off her scarf.

“Regina, you don’t—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why on earth didn’t you wear a coat?”

“I… forgot?” Emma smiles weakly, which doesn’t seem to reassure Regina.

Emma recognizes the scarf as the one she got Regina for her last birthday: light purple, more decorative than functional, not quite warm enough for this weather. She also recognizes the expression on Regina’s face as she winds the scarf around her neck: pursed lips, determined eyes. It’s the look she gets when she sprays extra sunscreen on Henry before a hiking trip with David, or when she adds her delicious homemade whipped cream to Snow’s burnt peach cobbler. She knows this isn’t really going to do anything, but she has to do something.

It’s a feeling Emma’s always been able to relate to, though she doesn’t know how to deal with being on the receiving end of it. Especially when Regina lets her hands linger on Emma’s shoulders for a moment, giving her a soft smile that makes her stomach flutter, before letting go and stepping back.

They continue walking as before, except now every inhale brings a whiff of perfume into Emma’s nostrils. It’s not subtle, because nothing about Regina is subtle, but it’s a sweeter variety than she used when Emma still knew her as Madame Mayor. Emma wonders when she changed it.

She knows why Regina’s upset, and she decides to start the discussion herself, keep it on firmer ground. “Look, I know it seems like I’m not as… invested… as I should be in the wedding stuff. And it’s not that I don’t care about all the work you and my mom are doing, but—”

“Emma, I never thought that.”

“Oh,” Emma says, surprised. “Then what were you thinking?”

Regina is quiet for a long time before she speaks. “I’m afraid you’re going along with things to make your family happy,” she says finally. “Me, or your mother. But you should know, Emma, we all just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Emma says. “I’m marrying someone I love. That’s the important part for me. Not the dress I wear or the food I eat or any of that. A wedding is just a day, you know?”

Regina looks relieved at that, though she still looks at Emma seriously. “Would you tell me if something was wrong?”

“Of course,” Emma lies. _ Would you? _ is what she truly wants to ask, though she suspects she knows the answer already. But if Regina doesn’t want to talk… well, Emma won’t make her.

Regina reaches out like she wants to touch her, and Emma can’t help but step back, like she did that time in Neal’s apartment. Regina had opened up to her, told her about how hard it is to hold in her darkness and how she doesn’t think she deserves to be happy. Emma said she believed in her—because she does, and she always will, even if she’s not great at showing it anymore. Regina smiled at her, put her hands on her shoulders, and called her _ good, _ and Emma had realized…

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t _ matter, _ and Regina doesn’t know, and if Emma plays her cards right, she never will.

Regina’s hand falls back to her side. She’s hurt; Emma can tell by the way she keeps the distance as they keep walking, doesn’t try to close it. She can tell by the straightness of her back and the tension in her shoulders, and the way she never looks at Emma except out of the corner of her eye.

When they pass Mifflin, Regina doesn’t stop walking. Emma has to stop them. “This is your street, Regina.”

“Oh,” Regina says, like she didn’t notice.

“Here.” Emma takes off Regina’s scarf and, despite Regina's protests that she doesn’t need it back, wraps it around her shoulders. She’s careful not to make more physical contact than necessary, but her hands brush against Regina’s hair, and it sends shivers down her spine.

She’s not bold enough to ask Regina to open her coat, or to do it for her. So she leaves the scarf there, hanging limp around her shoulders, for Regina to tuck in herself.

They say their goodbyes, and Emma makes the rest of the short walk on her own, trying not to think about Regina’s smile or her perfume or the softness of her hair. When she gets back in, Hook is in the kitchen. “There you are,” he says. “For a moment, I thought you’d run out on me.”

She kisses him, long and firm, until she almost feels something. “Never,” she says when she’s done.

Hook sniffs the air and frowns. “Is that… perfume?”

“Regina lent me her scarf,” she says casually.

“Ah.” He looks confused, like he’s not fooled, like he’s trying to decide whether it means something, and Emma knows exactly what to do.

She kisses him again, backing him up against the wall until the confusion on his face is replaced by lust. “Ready for round two?”

  
  


Finding out that Emma isn’t terribly invested in the leadup to her wedding doesn’t diminish Regina’s drive to make her shower nice. If anything, it increases it. She throws every spare moment she has into adjusting the shower plans, making everything perfect, and also helping to fix some of the logistic details that Snow overlooked.

She doesn’t even realize until the day before the shower that it will take place on the three-month anniversary for Robin’s death. That does not help at all.

She sleeps terribly and wakes up too soon. It’s a good thing she does, though, because there’s still so much to prepare. They basically reinvented many of the shower details in the past few days, and she can’t be sure she’s going into it without all the kinks worked out. It’s a similar feeling as being in front of a roomful of citizens without having fully memorized her speech, except worse, because this time, the people won’t forget it the next day if she makes a mistake.

There are numerous disasters the morning of the shower, but half an hour before Emma is set to arrive, Regina thinks everything’s okay. It’s not as polished as she would like it to be, but it’s presentable. The decor is just as extravagant as it was in the plans, so the princesses got to go all out and be happy with the planning. But it's fantastical and lavish in a way that’s humorous, self-aware, yet not so parodic as to be insulting for the vast number of actual fairy tale characters in attendance.

The cake sits on a table in the middle of the living room, a ridiculous four-tier confection of icing and white sugar flowers. On her fifth day of planning, Regina had a stroke of genius and set Aurora’s attention onto the one thing she couldn’t possibly mess up: the cake. Emma won’t care what it looks like as long as it tastes good, after all. The long table is also full of classic Disney foods—Lady and the Tramp spaghetti; Princess and the Frog beignets; even Snow White apple pie (which was not prepared by Regina). The gifts table sits next to it, currently empty except for Regina’s present.

Snow arrives early to help out, in full Disney princess regalia, and Regina is gratified to see that she’s blown away by the décor.

“I have to thank you, Regina,” Snow says. “You’ve been absolutely instrumental in helping this go smoothly. And the wedding, too. I didn’t even _ think _about parking.”

“Well,” Regina can’t help saying, “if the wedding weren’t so close, we wouldn’t have so many issues.”

Snow sighs. “I know, but Emma insisted.”

Regina freezes. “Emma? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Snow says, confused. “Of course it was Emma. She’s the bride, it’s her decision. I told her it wasn’t enough time, but I guess she’s excited. And as much work as it’s been for all of us, I can’t even be upset that she made the date so close.”

“Why is that?”

“Honestly, part of me expected her to have run by now,” Snow says. “And besides, she’s insisted on so little for this wedding. She’s been very accommodating.”

_Accommodating. _Yes, because she truly doesn't care about the outcome. “What has she insisted on?”

“Other than the date?” Snow thinks for a moment. “The brand of chocolates to put in the gift bag.” She gestures to the table of blue gift bags she dropped off earlier. “Which I thought was odd since she doesn’t even like that kind. I thought maybe she didn’t want to be tempted when she filled the bags…” She trails off, and her forehead creases with worry. “Do you think maybe she feels bad about having the date so close, so she wants everything else to go smoothly?”

“No,” Regina says, “I don’t think that’s it.”

“Well, I hope not,” Snow says, “because I really don’t mind working to get everything ready. I just want her to be happy.”

“Don’t we all,” Regina mutters.

Emma arrives a few minutes later. The moment she takes off her coat, Regina hands her a white ermine coat similar to the one she had in the Wish Realm, albeit enchanted so it won’t make her too warm. “Your Majesty,” she says, inclining her head.

Emma takes the coat with a smile. As she puts it on, she looks around at the decorations with wry amusement. “Princess adjacent,” she says. “Thanks, Regina. This is great.”

“I’m glad,” Regina says, rather tightly.

Emma must notice her stress because she says, “I’m sorry this is all happening on such a tight deadline. I know it can’t be easy for you. I really didn’t anticipate how stressful it would all be. But I’m glad you’re here.”

Regina looks at her closely. Emma seems stressed too, but Regina doesn’t have time to dwell on it because soon, the rest of the princesses arrive, all in full costume. Emma greets them all, returns their hugs, plays the perfect hostess. Regina fights off a yawn and tries to figure out why she’s so uneasy.

When everyone is there, Snow gets everyone’s attention and directs them to Regina. “All right,” Regina says, smiling as best she can. “Shall we get started?”

They start with the games. There’s a Disney trivia contest. There’s a spot-the-difference game with various fairy tales. There’s a game where they write Emma and Hook’s love story in a fairy tale format, going around the room and each adding a line until they have a complete ‘fairy tale.’ 

There’s the toilet paper dress show, in which the toilet paper dresses imitate classic Disney gowns. The catch: No one in the room is allowed to wear their own. Belle and Aurora do pretty good imitations of each other’s dresses, but Snow wins by a long shot with a stunning imitation of one of Regina’s outfits, complete with a (surprisingly good) re-enactment of Regina flouncing around giving orders.

There’s the game where the guests have to identify photos of celebrity couples, except the celebrities are all Disney characters and the photos are stills from the movies. Regina found pictures of some of the lesser-known Disney couples, to try and stump people, and of course she included the classics, so the guests could have fun picking out images of themselves. She even found a picture of Hook in Peter Pan and had Henry photoshop a picture of Emma next to him. It’s nostalgic and cute for the guests, and fun for Emma.

At least, it should be. Emma laughs and smiles and nods at all the right places, but something’s off with her. Emma keeps glancing at Regina when she thinks she’s not looking, seemingly checking that she’s all right. Regina does the same thing with Emma, and it becomes a positive feedback loop, both of them stressing each other out.

Everyone else seems to be having a good time, but Regina can’t be happy when Emma’s so… what? What’s going on with her? Is she disappointed with the shower? Was all of Regina’s planning for nothing?

By the time they make it to the gift opening, a good two hours in, Regina is practicing her deep breathing in any moment she isn’t forced to speak. She just needs to get through this next hour or so, and then she can figure out what’s wrong. Then things will be okay.

Emma is wonderfully polite when it comes to her gifts, exclaiming with pleasure over every gift regardless of how mundane or ill-suited to her tastes, and always hugging the giver in thanks. She even laughs along with everyone else when she opens a set of flimsy, hot pink lingerie. As the room explodes with giggles, Emma’s eyes meet hers and she gives Regina a tiny smirk; Regina returns it with a raised eyebrow and a friendly eye-roll.

She holds that small interaction to herself as proof that they still understand each other, that she still understands Emma. She can tell if Emma genuinely enjoys a gift (such as the flannel sheet set from Belle), loathes it (the lingerie from Ashley), or is indifferent to it (the pot set from Aurora).

The gifts are stacked on the table as Emma unwraps them, and the lingerie, of course, is displayed prominently on top. Regina can’t help but glance over at it more than is probably acceptable. It’s not very _ Emma, _ but it would look good on her, Regina thinks; pink is a good colour for her. She’s hit with a mental image of Emma in bed with her in it, and she flushes.

Then she thinks about Hook in bed with her in it. She swallows hard and looks away.

Last of all, it’s Regina’s turn. Emma unwraps Regina’s present: a set of baking pans, including one specialized for lasagna. She grins at her, then reads the note Regina tucked inside, which is labeled _ Family Recipe. _

Regina holds her breath. It had been so hard for her to find something Emma would really like; something useful, practical, but also thoughtful and personal. This was as close as she could get: the recipe Emma has always coveted, and has asked her for every time she would eat at Regina’s house (which used to be at least once a week).

“This is amazing, Regina,” Emma says, and she looks genuinely touched. Regina’s heart warms. “Thank you so much.”

After a short pause, Emma hugs her. She squeezes tightly once, then lets go before Regina can even put her arms around her fully, can even begin to savour the moment. It’s an even shorter hug than everyone else got.

It’s such a ridiculous thing to be sad about, but Regina’s crushed. She smiles at Emma and acts like everything’s fine, but inside, she replays the moment over in her mind, trying to think of anything she may have done wrong.

As the shower is finally, finally winding down, just as they’re preparing to eat the cake, Hook shows up. Emma immediately kisses him and tucks herself into his arms. Regina looks away, like she always does when she sees them together. It’s a habit she should break, but it’s not going to happen today, not when she’s so tired and stressed and she just wants this to be _ over. _

Hook seems a little drunk, a fact everyone recognizes fairly quickly. It’s obvious enough that Hook feels the need to explain himself. “I wasn’t certain of a warm reception,” he says. “I would understand if some of you had… reservations… about my marrying Emma, given my past.”

Immediately, everyone starts falling all over themselves to reassure him that he’s perfectly welcome and they all know he’s redeemed and they’re so happy he’s marrying the perfect saviour princess. Everyone except Regina, who fixes a polite smile on her face and focuses on her breathing. She’s near the food table, so she occupies herself with counting the number of sugar flowers on the cake. It’s a truly ridiculous amount.

She hears Hook laugh and can’t help herself from looking up. He’s spotted the lingerie, because of course he has. “We can make good use of that, can’t we, love?” he says, leering at Emma in a way that makes everyone uncomfortable—especially Regina. She can feel her fingernails making indents in her palms.

Emma leans away from him, a smile still on her face. “Not now, Killian,” she whispers.

“I was just joking,” he says, entirely unapologetic. “You can’t deny it would look good on you,” he murmurs in her ear.

Emma half-laughs and tries to look like it doesn’t matter, but Regina’s blood is boiling. She catches Emma’s eye briefly, and she can tell that Emma is more upset than she’s letting on.

Hook leans in again, probably to murmur more lewd things in her ear, and before Regina can think about what she’s doing, she steps forward.

“She said stop.”

The room goes quiet, and everyone stares at her. “Regina, it’s fine,” Emma says quickly, her tone begging Regina to leave it.

Hook grins and shrugs at her. “It’s all in good fun.”

“She asked you to stop,” Regina says. How dare he stand there and treat her that way. How dare he not know how lucky he is?

“Regina,” Emma says in a warning tone, but Regina won’t stop. She’s furious with Hook, furious with all of the guests who seem fine with making Emma miserable, furious with Emma for going along with it. She’s exhausted, angry, hurt, and at the absolute end of her rope.

“This is not some pirate gathering, where no one is expected to have manners. This is Emma’s bridal shower,” Regina says.

“I’m aware of that, seeing as I’m the groom.” There’s something possessive in Hook’s tone, something that some part of her brain registers as a warning, but she’s in no mood to listen to it.

“Yes, and I’m her maid of honour. I’m her best friend.”

Hook narrows his eyes and sneers at her. “Of course. I’m sure that’s all you feel for her.”

“Hook!” Emma says, glaring at him. “That’s enough. Leave her alone.”

Regina’s not listening; there’s blood roaring in her ears and she can’t think. “You’re a liar,” she spits out. “A liar and a terrible person.”

Hook moves toward her. “It doesn’t matter to me anyway,” he murmurs, for her ears only. “It’s not as though she would ever want to be with—”

The cake explodes. Pieces of cake, frosting, and little sugar anchors and flowers hit Hook right in the face, dripping off and smearing on his ridiculous leather jacket. It’s an incredibly satisfying image.

That is, until Regina realizes that everyone in the room—including Emma—is staring at her in abject horror.

She steps back, horrified with herself. After all that effort—after trying _ so hard _ to be good, to do _ better… _

She failed.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” she says. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Regina—” Emma steps forward and reaches out to her.

Regina calls on her magic to teleport her away. Emma’s devastated, concerned face is the last thing she sees before her vision is obscured by purple smoke.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

The shower ends pretty quickly after that. Eating the cake would have been the last activity, and with the maid of honour gone and the groom still fuming, nobody’s really in the mood to order another.

While Snow and the princesses clean things up, Emma quickly texts Regina, then drags her idiot fiancé into Regina’s study and closes the door. “What the hell was that about?” she asks, advancing on him so fast he backs up into the wall.

“Really, Swan?” Hook sounds genuinely surprised. “I can’t believe you’re this upset over a couple comments. I thought you had more pirate in you.”

“Not that,” Emma says, “although that wasn’t great either. What you said to Regina. Why would you say that to her? What is _ wrong _with you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” There’s no remorse in Hook’s eyes. “She obviously has feelings for you.”

“Are you out of your mind? She just lost Robin. Her _ soulmate. _”

Hook points a finger at her accusingly. “She was pining for you since before she was ever with him.”

“You’re drunk,” Emma says, rolling her eyes. Regina is the last person in the world who would ever have feelings for her. “Whatever. We can talk later. I gotta go find Regina.” Already, she’s running through a mental list of places she might be. Probably either her office or her vault.

“I don’t think Her Majesty wants to talk to anyone right now,” Hook says.

“She’ll talk to me,” Emma says, more confidently than she actually feels. Regina hasn’t looked happy when she’s been around her recently, but that doesn’t mean she’d actually ignore her, does it?

“I saw you texted her,” Hook says. “Has she replied?”

“Not yet,” Emma admits. “But that’s normal. She usually just… waits for me to go after her.”

Hook raises his eyebrows in a way that makes her feel foolish. Technically, Regina’s never actually _ said _she wanted Emma to follow her. Emma’s just… always done it. Regina would have said if she didn’t want it, wouldn’t she?

Then again, Regina did promise Emma she’d tell her if being maid of honour got too difficult, and that was obviously not true.

“I thought you’d stopped doing this,” Hook says, and there’s genuine hurt in his voice. “Running to her every time things got too _ serious _between us.”

“When did I do that?” Emma asks, playing at confusion even as anxiety prickles in her gut. Even though she knows exactly what he means, she wants to know how much of it he’s noticed too.

Hook’s jaw clenches. “The day after we got together, and you ditched me because you felt guilty over bringing Marian back. The night you put my heart back in, then left five seconds later because Regina was sad about Robin. The day I told you that you were my happy ending, and instead of spending the afternoon with me, you went back home in case Regina showed up. Even though _ she left you. _”

“That was different,” Emma argues, trying not to let on how much those last few words hurt. “She was trying to keep me safe.”

“And you were trying to keep her safe. I guess she decided she didn’t need you.” Hook steps towards her, takes her hand in his. “But I do, Swan,” he says quietly. “I need you.”

He has a point; she’s always known it. It’s what she always used to do: run away from their relationship, from the promise of a future with him and everything that meant. She ran from the safe, secure relationship that was just too hard to think about sometimes. And where did she run? To a woman whose presence made her feel strong and confident and self-assured. To the most amazing, most brilliant woman she knows.

To a woman who didn’t feel that way about her—and never would, because she was still pining for the happy ending Emma took from her. To a woman who would never need Emma half as much as Emma needed her.

Regina’s probably pissed at her right now anyway. Emma's the one who didn’t realize her own fiancé would show up drunk to her shower. She’s the one who didn’t stop Regina from leaving when said fiancé got out of hand. And that’s not even the worst thing she’s done to her in the past few months, not by a long shot.

And yet… “What am I supposed to do, just let her be upset? She’s my best friend, Hook.”

“I’m not saying you have to ignore her forever,” he says, more gently. “I just think maybe you should give her time.”

“You don’t know her the way I do,” she argues.

“Maybe not,” he says, “but I know the Queen pretty well. I was the one who told you she would be no threat after her soulmate died, was I not? Even though you doubted her.”

Again, he’s got a point. Her judgement of Regina’s mental state recently hasn’t exactly been foolproof. She remembers Regina’s angry, hurt face when she found out Emma thought she might be the one under the hood, and she feels a rush of guilt.

Hook squeezes her hand. “It’s not just about her, love. I need to know that you choose me.”

His soft, vulnerable tone makes Emma feel even more guilty. He doesn’t mean what he said, she knows that. He’s just stressed, like she is, and sometimes he messes up, like she does. It’s unfair that she would stay mad at him for a mistake when he’s the only person she knows who will always forgive her.

“I choose you,” Emma says quietly. “I love you.” She kisses him to prove it, maintaining the kiss until she feels him relax.

Then, as gently as she can, she pulls away. “And I want you to know that this is not about you.”

She turns and walks out the door. She can hear him calling her back, but she doesn’t listen, doesn’t stop. As she passes the cleanup crew, she looks over at her mom to see if they need help, but Snow smiles and nods to the door. _ Go find her, _ she mouths.

Emma smiles as she snags a gift bag from the table. Her mom thinks she can help Regina. That has to mean something.

But Hook’s words ring in her ears as she leaves the mansion, as she gets in her car, as she drives to City Hall. And she can’t shake the feeling that she’s screwing over two of the most important people in her life.

  
  
  


Regina’s phone buzzes with yet another text. She glances at it hopefully, but it’s just Snow.

This makes twelve texts she’s gotten in the past half hour. Three from Snow, telling her that she’s available if Regina would like to talk. Four from Henry, containing links to memes and funny YouTube videos; Snow or Emma must have told him what happened. Three from Zelena, graciously offering to roast Hook in a variety of magical and non-magical ways. There was even one from Aurora, whom she’d thought would be angry, but she was just asking if Regina was all right, which Regina found oddly touching.

And one from Emma, of course: _ Are you okay? Where are you? _

Regina thought about replying, but she can’t bring herself to do it. If she says where she is, she’s inviting Emma to come and find her, which puts pressure on Emma to make her feel better. It's hard to imagine that Emma would want to do something like that, not now when Regina’s just ruined her bridal shower.

She doesn’t want to talk to Emma. She’s exhausted and overwhelmed and emotionally drained, the adrenaline from her fight with Hook having left her. But she also wants Emma to want to talk to her.

If Emma wants to find her, she will. Regina ignoring her has never stopped her before.

But after what she just did, Regina’s not holding her breath.

Soon, she will stop wallowing. She will get up, clean her office, and apologize to Emma… and Snow, and the princesses, and even Hook. She will use her coping strategies, do her deep breathing and whatever the hell else she’s supposed to do.

But not yet. Right now, she’s going to curl up in her blankets and drink wine and feel bad for herself.

She initially hoped that by hiding out in her office, she might be able to get some work done. It’s a vain hope, and after only ten minutes, she gave up on focusing altogether, resorting instead to scrolling moodily through Emma’s texts like a teenager.

She scrolls up, once again, past the other texts she’s gotten from Emma recently. They’re mostly informative—_ Meeting about the Queen in 5 _ —or concerned— _ How are you today? _Emma texts her at least once a day, like clockwork. Regina wonders, bitterly, if she has an alarm on her phone reminding her to do it. Check in with Regina, make sure she hasn’t gone off the rails again.

She swallows a lump in her throat and scrolls all the way up to the texts from a year ago, the good ones: inviting her over, mentioning something funny that Henry did, sending pictures of her food, asking her questions about herself. Conversations about anything and everything. Regina misses it more than she can say.

She’s still poring over her phone when she hears the slow thudding of familiar boots in the hallway, stopping right outside her office door. Her heart leaps into her throat.

Several moments of silence follow. Then, just when Regina thinks Emma’s going to give up, she hears a knock. “Regina?” Emma calls softly. “Are you in there?”

“It’s open,” she says, and is proud that her voice doesn’t shake.

Emma lets herself in. She doesn’t look as angry as Regina expected her to, which is a relief, but it also makes her shame worse, somehow. She doesn’t deserve Emma, she truly doesn’t.

Emma’s holding a gift bag, which she holds out to Regina. “You didn’t get your loot.”

Regina blinks, having expected pretty much any other greeting. “Oh, I don’t…”

“Everyone else got theirs,” Emma says. “Trust me, you’ll want it. There’s the chocolates you like.”

Regina hesitates for another second, then takes it mostly so Emma won’t have to stand there holding it out for her. She puts it on the floor and moves aside so there will be more room on the couch, but Emma sits in the chair across from her and leans forward, her arms on her knees. She looks tense, worried, like she thinks Regina’s going to snap at her any second.

Regina can’t even blame her.

“How are you?” Emma asks softly. The sympathy radiating off her is too much, so much more than Regina deserves.

“I’m sorry I ruined your shower,” she says quietly.

“You didn’t ruin it,” Emma says immediately.

“I blew up a cake in your fiancé’s face.”

“He’s fine. And he deserved it.” Emma shrugs. “Besides, you probably stopped everyone from getting diabetes. That cake was, like, 90% icing.”

“Regardless, I understand if you want me to step down from being your maid of honour, of course.” Regina can’t quite meet her eyes as she says it.

“It’s not that I want that,” Emma says carefully, drumming her fingers on her knees—a habit she has when she’s nervous. “But I think it might make things easier for you.”

Easier for_ her? _“Come on,” Regina says, in no mood for games. “You can’t tell me you’d still want me after that… fiasco.”

Emma raises her eyebrows, looking genuinely surprised… and almost hurt. “You think I care about the party? You think I care about any of that?”

When Regina doesn’t reply, Emma gets up from the chair and moves to sit right next to her. “I care about _ you, _ Regina. You are more important than any party, or any stupid wedding thing.” She looks almost like she’s going to reach out and clasp Regina’s hands, but she keeps them folded in her lap. “We’ll work something out, all right? Maybe you can keep the title, but not be involved with the hands-on stuff. My mom can handle it.”

“I just feel like I don’t get to see you anymore,” Regina says softly, fully aware of how needy she sounds. “Outside of planning your wedding.”

Pain crosses Emma’s face, and she leans forward. “Look, I know I’ve been a crappy friend lately. I’m working on that. There’s just… a lot on my plate right now.” She looks down at her hands, twisted in her lap. “After this, things will be better. I promise.”

The exhaustion in her face, in her tone, makes Regina’s heart ache. “You can move the wedding back, if you’re stressed,” she suggests. “Give yourself more time.”

“I can’t,” Emma says, picking at her fingernail miserably. “Hook keeps making jokes about how I’m probably going to leave him at the altar.”

That _ asshole_. “He shouldn’t do that,” Regina says. “That’s horrible.”

“It’s okay,” Emma says, looking surprised by the intensity of Regina’s reaction. “They’re… they’re funny, when he says them.”

“I can’t imagine why he’s complaining about anything you do,” Regina says, her fury—always so close to the surface—rising once more. “You’re too good for him already.”

“I’m not,” Emma says quietly. “I’m really not.”

Regina stares at Emma in disbelief. “You weren’t the one making innuendos at him today after he asked you to stop!”

“He’d been drinking. He didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, do you think someone poured that rum down his throat?”

“Can you lay off him?” Emma says angrily. She shifts backwards on the couch. “He’s just stressed.”

“Why are you making excuses for him? It’s just me here,” Regina says, unsure why she’s struck such a nerve.

Emma deflates. “Sorry,” she says. “I don’t mean to. I know he was out of line.”

“Yes, he was,” Regina agrees vehemently, glad that Emma can at least see it now.

“He shouldn’t have antagonized you,” Emma says.

Regina blinks at her in disbelief. “That’s the part you have a problem with? Not what he said to you?”

“Regina, it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal that he’s walking all over you?”

“He’s not _ walking all over _me,” Emma bites out. “We argued about it, after you… left. I told him it wasn’t okay.” She doesn’t meet Regina’s eyes when she says it.

“Oh? And did he apologize?”

“Not yet,” Emma says, “but he will.” 

“That’s not what I—”

“And honestly,” Emma interrupts, her tone sharp, “this really isn’t any of your business.”

“None of my _ business?” _Regina frowns at her. “I thought we were friends.”

“A friend wouldn’t try to undermine my relationship.”

“I’m not trying to undermine your relationship,” Regina says, stung by Emma’s words. “I’m trying to figure out why you’ve been behaving so odd recently.”

“I’m not behaving differently,” Emma says defensively. Too defensively.

Regina studies her face, the harsh line of her mouth and the faint circles under her eyes. “You look tired. You’re not standing up for yourself. You’ve been spending less time with me. What is going on, Emma?”

Emma looks even angrier at that, like she might snap at her, and Regina braces herself for it. But then, Emma stands up. “Enjoy your gift bag,” she says stiffly, and walks to the door.

Regina stands as well, but she’s not fast enough; Emma’s already grabbing the door handle. “Emma, wait,” she calls.

Emma stops and turns around. “I’m sorry you’re having a tough time,” she says, more gently. “And if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

And with that, she leaves.

Regina closes her eyes, takes some deep breaths, and tries to think. It had never occurred to her that Emma might be having issues that aren’t about her. Everyone in Emma's family seems convinced that she’s doing well, that she’s lowered her walls, that she’s in love and happy and nothing is wrong. Regina had assumed that Emma being distant with her was a result of their friendship breaking down, of Regina having done something wrong.

But she knows her friend. She remembers a time when having her wedding planned by several Disney princesses would at least be enough to put a smile on Emma’s face. She remembers a time when Emma would choose her own outfits, and they would always be bright and warm and comfortable. She remembers a time when Emma would never let a man humiliate her in front of her friends and family.

She remembers a time when Emma trusted her.

There is something wrong that Emma’s not telling her. And if it has something to do with the wedding—which Regina’s gut tells her it does—then she needs to figure it out, and fast.

As she goes to retrieve the wine glass she left on the table, she notices the gift bag on the floor. She picks it up and opens it. Inside, she finds a gold bottle opener, a handful of her favourite imported chocolates, a couple of shot glasses labeled _ Emma and Killian Forever, _and a card with a picture of a puppy dog on the front.

She puts the shot glasses and bottle opener in a drawer (shoving the shot glasses to the back). She eats the chocolates slowly, savouring them. And she reads the card.

_ Dear Regina, _

_ Thank you for throwing my bridal shower. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m sure I’ll love it no matter what you’ve come up with. I know it can’t be easy dealing with all those princesses (and my mother!!), but you’ve done so much for me and I really appreciate it. And I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you for being my friend. You’re the most amazing person I know. _

_ Yours, _

_ Emma _

Regina looks at the card for a few extra seconds, tracing Emma’s signature with her finger, then props it carefully on her desk where she can see it while she does her work.

One week. She has one week to figure out what’s wrong with Emma before she signs her life away to that awful, smelly pirate. But right now, the trust that used to be between them is in tatters… and she doesn’t even know why.

All she knows is that she’s the only one she can count on to figure this out.


	4. Chapter 4

Emma’s on her lunch break at the Sheriff’s station when her phone buzzes with a text. She knows who it is before she even looks, but she can’t stop herself from looking at the screen anyway.

It’s from Regina, like she knew it would be: a picture of her and Henry at Granny’s and an invitation to join them. Emma half-smiles before she can stop herself. Then, with a heavy heart, she puts her phone away and doesn’t reply.

It’s been five days since they had their argument—Emma refuses to call it a falling-out. They’ll get over this; they’ve had fights before. Although this one is… different. Normally, it’s Emma who tries to resolve things with Regina, but this time, Regina seems to be taking point. She texts Emma multiple times a day, for one thing, which she almost never does. Tidbits of her day, conversation starters, and even pictures of her food. Emma almost never replies, but that doesn’t seem to change anything for Regina.

And it’s not just texting. Regina keeps showing up in person as well, whether to bring Emma lunch or invite her for drinks or share a funny anecdote about Storybrooke’s demanding citizens. She doesn’t try to make Emma talk about Hook, or the wedding, or their fight. She makes small talk until Emma turns down the lunch, denies her invitation, or makes some half-baked excuse. Then she leaves, looking slightly heartbroken.

The worst part—the awful part, the part that doesn’t even make sense—is that Emma slowly begins to resent her for it. She starts being rude and abrupt whenever Regina is around, and she hates it. But she can’t help it, can’t find a balance between keeping Regina safely at arm’s length and pushing her away entirely. She’s not sure how to apologize for it without cracking and spilling everything she doesn’t want to say.

She’ll fix things with Regina. She’ll make everything right again. She _ will. _ Just… not right now. Because everything is catching up with her this week. The barely-there, mostly-subconscious panic she’s been experiencing for the past few weeks is rising to the surface fast, and Emma doesn’t know how to deal with it. She tries on dresses she doesn’t care about and approves desserts she doesn’t care about and talks about restroom options and parking and dietary restrictions until her head spins, and it never feels like enough.

Even worse, it’s getting harder and harder for her to keep Regina out of her mind. She finds herself on her phone typing out a text to Regina about something her mom said or something one of the princesses did, which she always erases immediately. She thinks about Regina when she tries the cake—the cheesecake, the kind Regina can’t eat too much of because she’s sensitive to dairy, the kind Emma vetoes for that exact reason.

She should be glowing, having fun with Hook, enjoying her last week of being a bachelorette, or whatever. Instead, she spends a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out what Regina’s game is. And whatever it is, her whole family’s in on it. On Monday, Henry said he forgot his homework at Regina’s house and insisted that Emma come in with him to look for it. On Tuesday, David says he was too busy to attend their weekly meeting with the Mayor and sent her instead (Emma’s not cruel enough to send Hook along). On Wednesday, Snow came over for tea, then went on a long, unprompted tangent about the power of friendship while Emma stared at her blankly, which segued into a long, unprompted tangent about Regina. On Thursday, Snow and David invited both Emma and Regina to family dinner and seated them directly next to each other, instead of putting Henry between them as they usually do.

So, on Friday, when Hook gets a call at the station telling him his ship’s been vandalized, Emma can’t help but get suspicious. He storms off to deal with it, and she can’t go with him because someone needs to be in the station to answer calls. 

Emma not surprised when about five minutes after Hook left, Regina shows up, a bag of food in one hand. She’s got her “trying-to-be-social-but-not-really-sure-how” face on, as she has for the past few days. Emma can see the anxiety, the care, underneath that stiff posture and wide smile, and she tries not to melt at it.

Regina looks around the room. “Where’s Hook?” she asks, by way of greeting.

“He got a call. Apparently his ship was vandalized?”

“Oh,” Regina says, her eyes wide. Too wide.

Emma studies her carefully. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Regina raises her eyebrows. “Why would I know anything about that?” she asks innocently.

“Because you’re the Mayor, and it’s your job to know everything that goes on in the town?”

This seems to amuse Regina. “No,” she says truthfully, “I didn’t know anyone was going to vandalize Hook’s ship. I promise it wasn’t me.” She clears her throat and holds up the bag. “I just thought, if you weren’t busy, we could have lunch together. I brought you something.”

She reaches into the bag. Emma expects her to produce a bearclaw and a grilled cheese sandwich, like she did the last time she tried this. Instead, she pulls out a fruit smoothie- the exact fruit smoothie that Emma always orders now, because the other foods are too heavy. “I asked Granny what you were having for lunch these days,” she says.

Emma’s about to say she’s not hungry, but her stomach growls before she can get the words out. The truth is, she forgot to pack her lunch today, and she’s starving.

Sitting there with an empty stomach, looking at Regina with her food and her smile and her anxious eyes, it’s hard to think of all the reasons why lunch with her friend is a bad idea. And it’s even harder to think up a good excuse for why she won’t accept lunch when she’s obviously hungry.

She sighs, conceding defeat, and accepts the drink. “Thanks.”

Regina sits down with a smile, politely moving aside the large pile of paperwork Emma hasn’t had the concentration to complete. She pulls out what looks like a chicken sandwich for herself.

It becomes obvious very quickly that Regina didn’t think she’d get this far. They make uncomfortable small talk until until Regina runs out of banal questions, at which point they lapse into awkward silence. Emma gulps down her smoothie while Regina takes one bite of sandwich approximately every five years. Every so often, they’ll accidentally make eye contact, and Emma will quickly look away.

After ten excruciating minutes of this, Regina breaks. “I’m worried about you,” she says, finally foregoing pretense.

“I’m fine,” Emma says, and smiles to sell it.

Regina’s face tenses with frustration. “Emma, please. I know something’s wrong. You haven’t been acting like yourself.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Emma says, too quickly. “I guess I’m just… a little tired. It’s been pretty busy recently. My fault, I know.” She shrugs in a self-deprecating manner. “And I’m just a little stressed because, you know, a wedding is a big deal.”

“I would understand if you’re having a rough time,” Regina says. “You’ve been through a lot recently.” There’s genuine compassion in her tone, and it hurts more than judgement would have.

“Yeah, well. That’s over now. Everything’s great. I’ve got everything I could want.” The words come out flatter than she means them to.

“Would you at least consider moving the wedding back?” Regina says quietly. “It’s not too late. If you’re tired and stressed, then maybe this isn’t a good time to make a big life choice.”

It’s definitely too late to take this life choice back. It was too late the moment she followed Hook to hell—no, when she made him the Dark One. Everything since then has been follow-through. “I’m not gonna do that, Regina.”

Regina frowns. “May I ask why not?”

“Because… I’m the bride, and I say I don’t want to, so.” She feels like crossing her arms over her chest and stamping her foot.

But really - and that hot, awful anger starts burning in her chest again - she _is_ the bride, and this _is_ her wedding, and who is Regina to tell her what she should be doing?

There’s a pause, and then Regina asks, in a carefully measured tone, “Are you worried it would upset Hook?”

There’s something in Regina’s eyes—an assumption she’s close to making—that Emma doesn’t like. “I’m not afraid to upset him,” Emma says clearly. “He’s my fiancé, not Godzilla.”

“He doesn’t… yell at you, or anything?” Regina asks.

“When he gets mad, he doesn’t yell,” Emma says. “He doesn’t hurt me. He takes a step back and gives me the time I need to apologize.”

It’s the truth, so she figures it should be convincing, but Regina’s frown only deepens. “Does he talk to you about it?”

“Yeah, when I’m ready.”

“So, he ignores you,” Regina says slowly.

Frustration settles in Emma’s gut, hot and uncomfortable. “Stop twisting what I’m saying, Regina.”

“I’m not the one twisting things.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you,” Emma says firmly, trying to regain some control. “We’re happy together, and I understand if you have a problem with that, but this isn’t the way to deal with it.”

“Stop deflecting,” Regina snaps. “I have tried being patient with you. At some point, Emma, you have to stop running from this.”

The words hit harder than Regina probably meant them to, and Emma grips the side of the desk to ground herself. “I’m not running,” Emma says, her voice low and dangerous, and it’s not a lie. She’s not running from Regina; she’s running _ towards _ Hook. The way everyone says she’s _ supposed _to.

“You’ve been avoiding me all week,” Regina says. “What would you call that?”

“I call it prioritizing,” Emma says, hardening her face into a mask. “I’m getting married, Regina. And I’ve still got my family, and my job. I don’t have a lot of time for chatting.”

“And I would believe that if it weren’t for the fact that you clearly aren’t dealing with any of those things. Henry says you haven’t called or asked to see him in days, Snow says the same, and…” Regina looks meaningfully at the large stack of paperwork Emma’s been neglecting.

“I’m doing my best,” Emma says through gritted teeth. “Sorry it’s not good enough for you, Madame Mayor. But I’ll get that paperwork in to you as soon as I can. _ After _my wedding.”

She hates the coldness of her voice as it comes out, but she’s so _ furious _with Regina. Her whole body feels like a spring that’s wound too tight, twisted into a coil of nervous energy she doesn’t know what to do with.

And Regina just keeps twisting. “After your wedding that you gave everyone two weeks to plan.”

“I never said it had to be very nice,” Emma says, her voice getting louder against her will. “You could have told me you were stressed!”

“So you could kick me off the team?”

“So you could take care of yourself!” Emma glares at her. “Which you obviously didn’t do if you’re here taking this out on me.”

“I’m not taking anything out on you. I have done everything I can to be here for you,” Regina says helplessly, her voice rising to match Emma’s. “Why can’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” Emma says, and she can’t quite meet Regina’s eyes when she says it. “Of course I trust you.”

“As much as you trusted me not to run you through with a sword?”

Immediately after Regina says it, her eyes widen, like she didn’t mean to say it at all. But the anger in her tone was real.

Emma’s heart sinks, her anger fading into guilt. “Are you still mad about that?” she asks carefully.

“I’m not mad,” Regina insists, which is a lie.

“Look, if you want to talk about that…”

“Stop changing the subject,” Regina says. And it’s so damn frustrating that Regina won’t even admit what’s bothering her. She won’t even admit that there _ could _be something bothering her. Emma’s anger flares right back up at the hypocrisy, and this time, it’s a relief.

“Hey, you brought it up,” Emma snarls back. “You’re changing the subject.”

“Back to the original subject, which you still won’t talk about!”

She crosses her arms. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Emma, I know you,” Regina says, leaning forward. “I know when you’re trying to hide from something. Right now, you are, and you have to talk about it!”

“Do I?” Emma nearly shouts. “Because I don’t see a dagger you can use to make me.”

She didn’t know she would say it until she did. Even now, she’s not sure exactly where these words are coming from. Stress? Anger? Some buried place of hurt that she’s pushed aside for a long time? Maybe all three.

Regina flinches back, clearly hurt and angry. “That was a special circumstance,” she says. “I needed you to talk to me. What else could I do?”

“You could have trusted me,” Emma says. “Like you want me to trust you.”

“And risk letting you fall to darkness?” Regina shakes her head. “Nothing’s worth that, Emma.”

Nothing’s worth the risk of trusting that Emma might be a good person, that she might resist the darkness. Emma knew Regina didn’t have faith in her, but it still hurts to hear it out loud.

It hurts more because Regina’s right.

Regina closes her eyes, looking like she’s trying to compose herself. “I know this can’t be easy—”

“You know what?” Emma interrupts. “You get so mad when I don’t open up to you, but when I’m vulnerable with someone else, you get mad about that too. I don’t know what you _ want _from me.”

“I want you to talk to me!” Regina’s voice is loud, ragged, desperate. “I want to help you!”

“Oh, really? Because it kind of seems like all this help you’re giving me is making everything worse!”

She doesn’t realize she’s close to tears until her voice cracks.

As Emma fights to keep her composure, the anger drains from Regina’s face. It’s replaced by guilt, and concern, and a deep sadness that makes Emma’s heart ache.

“I think you should go, Regina,” Emma says, working hard to keep her voice steady. She can’t fix anything between them right now, not when she’s so close to the edge herself.

Even though she wishes, with all her heart, that she could.

“Emma…” Regina whispers.

“Regina,_ please. _”

Regina looks at her for a long, long time. Emma stares back, her fists clenched, and doesn’t say anything.

Finally, thankfully, Regina nods and makes her way to the door. Emma sits back in her desk chair and tries to breathe.

At the doorway, Regina turns back. “If you ever change your mind,” she says, her own voice trembling slightly, “you know where to find me. Anytime, Emma.”

She holds Emma’s gaze for a second longer, and then she’s gone.

Emma closes her eyes and puts her head in her hands. She’s not sure how long she sits there until she hears Killian’s footsteps.

She looks up as he enters the station. “Hey,” she says, trying to smile. “What was the vandalism?”

“Nothing important,” Hook says, looking uncomfortable. “Just a bunch of…” He catches sight of Emma. “Is everything all right, love?”

Emma wants to lie, wants to tell him it is, but tears are prickling at her eyes, and Hook knows her better than that. “Regina dropped by,” she says. “She’s been having a hard time and she took it out on me.”

It’s the most reasonable explanation. It’s the best possible explanation, because it means that this will go away eventually, once Regina feels better.

It’ll go away, and she can get her friend back without losing anything else.

Hook pulls her into a hug, and Emma cries into his jacket. She hates that she’s crying. She hates Regina for making her cry. She hates how fucking easy it is these days to make her cry.

But most of all, she hates herself for wishing the arms around her belonged to someone else.

The last of Regina’s righteous anger leaves her as she exits the station, making way for guilt that sits heavy in her chest. The argument was her fault; she knows that. She’d been quietly hopeful when Emma agreed to eat lunch with her, thinking this could be a sign of progress. But when nothing happened, she’d felt unbearably disappointed. She’d reached the end of her rope and simply let go, resorting to the same tactics she had always favoured: blunt anger and straightforward provocation. And they worked as well as they always have.

Regina has only a few minutes left in her break, but she goes home instead of heading straight to work. Her sister owes her an update, and until then, the town’s parking laws and minor complaints will have to wait.

She’d hoped for some good news (for once), but when she receives her sister’s report on the afternoon, her consternation turns quickly to disbelief.

“I’m sorry, you did _ what _to the Jolly Roger?”

“You said you wanted a distraction!” Zelena says defensively.

“I thought you would prank-call him, or tell him the fishing was really good, or something. I never said to spray-paint green penises onto his ship!”

Zelena crosses her arms, lime green spray can still in hand. “Come on, we were all thinking it.”

“No, we absolutely weren’t.” Although it’s hard to be truly mad at Zelena as she thinks about rows of tiny genitals marching across the side of Hook’s ship. She stifles a snort, not wanting to encourage her sister’s bad habits.

Zelena catches it anyway and grins. “So, did it work?” she asks, leaning across Regina’s table eagerly. “Did you repair your relationship with Emma?”

Regina’s mood sours instantly. “No,” she mutters. “I didn’t.”

Zelena puts the spray can down and grabs her hand. “I’m sorry, sis.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she says, squeezing her sister’s hand. **“**I think I’ve been pushing too hard. But I don’t know how to stop. And I don’t know how else to help her.”

“I can set a monster loose,” Zelena offers with a little too much enthusiasm. “Then you’ll have to fight it off together. You can’t do better than that for a bonding activity.”

“Yes,” Regina says dryly, “I see no way that could possibly go wrong.”

She had, in her more desperate moments, already considered it. But although her constituents are fairly forgiving, she could hardly explain away massive property damage by saying she just wanted to win her friend back.

Zelena shrugs unapologetically. “Well, if you’re looking at me for friendship advice, you’ve come to the wrong place. If you need any more vandalism, though…” She jiggles the spray can. “Let me know.”

“Thanks, Zelena,” Regina says. She rises and walks around the table to give her sister a hug. “I owe you one.”

“Yes, I know,” Zelena replies with a deep, wearied sigh. But she returns the hug more warmly than Regina would have expected.

Regina knows, deep down, that Zelena is only being kind to her out of pity. Still, she is glad to have her family around her. She hadn’t asked them to try and force her and Emma to make up; the Charmings and Henry had noticed the discord between them and intervened on their own. She’s grateful for the effort.

She’d be more grateful if it had worked.

She goes back to the office, fully intending to get something done and make up for all the hours she’s already spent on Emma. But she can’t concentrate, and she can’t even bring herself to feel guilty when she spends the remainder of her afternoon coming up with plans to win Emma’s trust back, none of which seem like they would have a chance of working. She’s already tried everything she can think of, a list mainly made up of things Emma has tried on her: bringing lunch, offering sympathy, never giving up… Nothing has worked, and now it seems they’re worse off than ever.

In her heart, she knows Emma has a point. Regina pushed her too far. And if that’s what caused the break in trust… well, she can’t exactly go back in time and fix it.

At dinnertime, she gives up and starts stress-tidying her office. There’s no reason why she can’t stay as long as she likes, since Henry’s staying with Hook tonight. Hook asked him to be best man, and he accepted after clearing it with Regina (who begrudgingly agreed), so they’re having some type of bachelor party with David that involves fishing and stargazing. She suspects those may be the only recreational activities the pirate is capable of besides looting and pillaging.

She can’t help but notice when the time of Emma’s bachelorette party rolls around. Snow has them booked at _ Aesop’s Tables, _a new bar in town. Regina’s not going, obviously. No one wants her there, least of all Emma, and Regina doesn’t particularly enjoy these types of occasions anyway. But she does think she wouldn’t mind a drink, so she heads to Granny’s shortly before it closes.

When she gets there, most of the lights are dark, and a ‘Closed’ sign hangs on the window. Regina checks her watch: it’s definitely still opening hours, even if only just. Confused, she moves closer to the window. Inside the diner, she only sees one person: a figure wearing a long flowery dress and a blonde ponytail, stacking dishes slowly.

On the one hand, Regina’s badly curious to know how Emma ended up alone in Granny’s less than an hour after her party started. On the other hand… she’s fairly certain Emma doesn’t want to talk to her.

Before she can decide, Emma looks out the window and sees her. She freezes, piles of dishes still in her hands.

They look at each other in silence for a few moments. Regina stands just as frozen as Emma, just as uncertain, hoping her friend will give her a sign for how to proceed.

Finally, Emma tilts her head in a gesture that means _ Come in. _

Her stomach twisting with nerves, Regina enters the diner. “Didn’t feel like going to your party?” she asks, keeping her tone as gentle as possible.

“I went,” Emma says, a touch defensively. “But it turns out my mom booked it for the wrong night.”

Regina barely stops herself from rolling her eyes. She feels a small, vindictive moment of pleasure. Yes, during her time as maid of honour, she’d angered every bridesmaid under her command and blown up a cake in the groom’s face… but at least she hadn’t booked the shower at the wrong location and sent everyone scrambling at the last minute. She can take some pride in that, at least.

“Granny was happy to offer this place at the last minute,” Emma continues, “but then Aurora decided we needed to do karaoke, and the place pretty much cleared out after that. Granny was pissed.”

Regina pictures that in her mind, complete with Granny’s furious expression. Despite the circumstances, she has to stifle a snort.

“After that, Granny made us clean up,” Emma says. “She also said, and I quote, ‘if you let any wildlife in here to help, it will be the last time any of you set foot in this diner.’”

“And the princesses left the cleanup to you?” As annoying as they can be, Regina has a hard time imagining any of them passing up the opportunity to help someone like that.

“I told them to go,” Emma says. “I felt like being on my own.”

She doesn’t say it accusingly, but Regina feels the sting of rejection all the same. Part of her wants to insist on staying, but she knows respecting Emma’s boundaries is probably the right choice. “I can leave,” she offers reluctantly.

She’s surprised when Emma shakes her head. “No, I meant…” She sighs and pushes a loose strand of hair out of her face. “I mean, it’s fine.” The offer of space seems to have relaxed her slightly, though, and she gives Regina a small smile.

In the silence that follows, Regina can feel her heart pounding against her ribcage. She’s torn between fear and hope: fear that this will go badly; hope that it won’t. That this can be the time she finally gets through to Emma.

“What did you come for?” Emma asks after a few moments.

“Just a drink,” Regina says.

“Oh.” Emma grimaces. “Sorry we, uh, shut the place down.”

“It’s all right.”

After another moment of awkward silence, Emma resumes clearing up the dishes. Regina joins her, gathering glasses smeared with lipstick and napkins stained with food.

“You don’t have to help,” Emma says.

“I don’t mind.” And she doesn’t. She truly doesn’t, not if it means she gets to be in this room with Emma just a little bit longer.

They finish clearing the dishes. For a tense second, Regina is afraid this will mean the end of their truce, but then Emma grabs two brooms from the back and hands her one. They sweep the floor in companionable silence.

Underneath the surface, Regina’s thoughts are churning. Should she acknowledge their fight? Apologize for the role she played in it? Ask for forgiveness? Ignore it and invent some other banal topic to keep the conversation going?

She’s on the brink of commenting on the weather when Emma turns to her. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice small. “I crossed a line earlier. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.”

“Neither did I,” Regina says, and she can’t help it if a bit too much emotion slips into her voice. “You were right. I shouldn’t have ever pushed you as far as I did.”

“You were right too,” Emma says, remorse clear on her face. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. Especially after I said I wouldn’t. I’m so sorry, Regina.”

“It’s understandable,” Regina says quietly. “After all, I admitted I have a hard time balancing my emotions.”

Emma raises her eyebrows. “You think you don’t have self-control?” she says, her tone aiming for levity and falling far short. “I’m marrying a guy who broke a card table because he lost a game of poker.”

“I’m sure he’s reformed now.” She can’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Actually, that was a few weeks ago.” Emma smiles, but there’s something bitter in her tone as well.

Regina badly wants to discuss that, but Emma speaks before she can. “My point is, I’m not afraid that you can’t control yourself. I don’t think of you that way. I never have.”

“Then why did you think I might want to hurt you?” Regina can’t help asking.

“I know how much you cared about Robin,” Emma says quietly. “And I thought, if any part of you were going to get revenge for his death, it would be… you know, the good part. The part that still loved him.”

Regina puts down her broom and stares at her, totally confused. “Why would I want revenge on _ you? _”

Emma blinks at her. “Because… his death was my fault,” she says slowly. “Hades wouldn’t have killed him if I didn’t bring everyone to hell to save Killian.”

Regina can’t believe this. Is that what’s been bothering Emma all this time? The anxious look on Emma’s face suggests it is, that this is something she’s carried around with her for weeks. Possibly months.

“Everyone who went on that journey with you chose to go,” Regina says firmly. “I don’t blame you for what happened to Robin. No one does.”

Emma puts down her broom as well, looking nervous but determined**. **“Really? Because when you found out I was engaged and said you were happy for me, you lied.”

“Emma—”

“No, you did,” she says with certainty. “And every time I’m with Hook, you look upset. I can connect the dots, Regina.”

“I’m not upset,” Regina lies.

Emma presses her lips together in a facsimile of a smile. “Hey, I get it. I’d be mad too if my friend got her happy ending and I lost mine. Especially if it was her fault.”

“It’s _ not _your fault, Emma!”

“But something’s definitely bothering you.”

Regina doesn’t have an answer for that, so she changes the subject. “If you feel like something’s been bothering me, why have you been avoiding me? Normally, you bring it up with me if you feel like you’ve hurt me.”

“Because normally, I feel like I can make it better.” There’s a deep, aching sadness in her voice that Regina doesn’t know how to address. “This time, there’s nothing I can do.”

Regina shakes her head, unconvinced. “That’s never stopped you before. The last time I lost Robin, you didn’t think you could bring him back, but you didn’t give up on me. You kept fighting for me. For our friendship.”

“Yeah, by promising you a happy ending. And then completely screwing it up.”

The amount of self-loathing in her voice takes Regina by surprise. She steps closer to Emma. “Emma, I didn’t become your friend because I thought you’d give me a happy ending.”

Emma frowns uncertainly. “You didn’t?” And the genuine confusion in her voice makes Regina want to reach out and hug her.

Regina doesn’t, knowing it wouldn’t be welcome, but she does step closer, and she’s almost surprised when Emma doesn’t back away. “I was touched that you were trying, but I never needed you to do that for me. I wanted you to be my friend because…”

She trails off, her heart sinking as she remembers what Emma really did to rebuild trust between them. It wasn’t chatting over drinks, or annoying her into submission, or offering sympathy, or even fighting to help her beat fate.

“Because you told me how much you cared about me,” she says slowly. “And I knew you meant it.”

The night Regina truly began to see her as a friend, the night she truly began to trust Emma, was the night she came down into Regina’s vault and admitted how much she wanted to be her friend. She was honest and open and vulnerable, and she held nothing back.

If Regina wants to replicate that, to do for Emma what Emma did for her, there’s only one card she can play.

And it’s the card she wants more than anything to keep close to her chest.

“I did,” Emma says, smiling sadly. “I still do.” She hesitates, then puts a hand on Regina’s shoulder and squeezes it. “Thanks for helping me clean up. I should get home.”

She lets go and starts to walk past Regina, then pauses. “Let me know when you want to talk,” she says softly.

And then she’s gone.

Regina knows what she has to do. She knows, she’s sure of it, but the mere thought of it sends her stomach into knots. It makes her skin break out into goosebumps, her heart race, her throat grow tight. It’s the last thing she ever imagined herself doing, the last thing she would ever _ want _to do.

But she can’t let Emma go on like this, believing that Regina secretly hates her for a crime she didn’t commit. She can’t let Emma continue to avoid her and mistrust her intentions. Just as importantly, she can’t expect Emma to give away her secrets while keeping any of her own. She’s been keeping her feelings locked away in order to protect their relationship, but if they keep on like this, they won’t have any relationship left.

She could lose everything by doing this… but she _ will _lose everything if she doesn’t.

Summoning all her willpower, she forces herself to walk out of Granny’s. She finds Emma standing outside, her back to the door, probably texting her fiancé. She doesn’t turn around when Regina opens and closes the door, even though she must hear it, but she puts her phone in her pocket and starts walking away.

“Emma, wait.”

Emma stops and turns around slowly. “Ready to talk?” she asks softly.

Regina opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. It fully occurs to her, then, the magnitude of what she’s doing. Emma could hate her, Emma could be furious that Regina kept this from her, Emma could feel so awkward she never wants to speak to her again…

“Just say whatever you want to say, Regina,” Emma says tiredly. “I can take it.” And she’s clearly so ready for some kind of insult, some sort of accusation.

Regina squeezes her eyes shut. She thinks about shots in Granny’s and heavy looks at the town line and Emma smiling at her in her office, telling her she knew she was telling the truth. She thinks about stopping the trigger and fighting the ice monster and losing Emma to a vortex of darkness. She thinks about all the secrets they shared, the vulnerable moments they’ve weathered together, and how strong they became because of it.

They will make it through this. She chooses to believe that, because the alternative is unthinkable.

“Emma,” she says, “I love you.”

She opens her eyes.

And she waits.

Emma blinks at her, a small furrow developing between her brows, the way it does when she doesn’t quite understand something. “I… love you too,” she says slowly.

Regina has to smile at that, just a little. “No, I _ love _ you. I’m in love with you.”

“I don’t…” Emma shakes her head. “This isn’t funny, Regina.”

“It’s not a joke,” she says softly, her smile fading. “I’m sorry.”

Emma still looks confused. “But… Robin,” she says blankly. “He was your soulmate. He was perfect for you. You had that whole perfect family with him.” There’s a note of something in her voice that Regina can’t quite identify.

“I loved Robin,” Regina says. “He was my soulmate, and my friend, and I could have been happy with him. But what I felt for you is separate from that. Separate, and just as real.”

A myriad of emotions crosses Emma’s face: confusion, shock, disbelief, and finally… guilt?

Guilt, and overwhelming grief, and Regina doesn’t understand any of it. The devastation on Emma’s face makes Regina want to comfort her, even though she has no idea how, even though _ she _is the one who just made herself vulnerable.

“I didn’t know,” Emma whispers. “I didn’t—why didn’t I know? God, I’m an awful friend. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Regina says quickly. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Emma nods in understanding. “Because you thought it would make things weird.”

“I didn’t want things to change between us,” Regina says. “I… I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Lose me?” Emma blinks, like the very idea confuses her. “You’re not going to lose me, Regina.”

“I feel like I already am,” Regina says, and tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“I talk to you all the time.”

“But not about what truly matters. As far as I can tell, you don’t talk to _ anybody _anymore.” She can feel several weeks’ worth of repressed worry pouring out, and she doesn’t try to prevent it. “And that scares me, Emma.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “I didn’t mean that,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know it’s because you don’t trust me,” Regina says, letting the words spill out of her. “I know I haven’t always been a good friend to you. I thought planning your wedding would help fix that, but then I couldn’t handle it, it was so _ hard, _and I knew…” Her breath hitches, her voice breaks, but she keeps going. “I knew I would lose you to him, and I can’t do that, Emma. I can’t—”

Emma comes forward and hugs her. It’s not brief and polite like the hug Regina gave her when she announced her engagement, nor the one Emma gave her at her bridal shower. It’s strong and tight and everything Regina wanted from her. It’s the first hug that’s truly felt like _ them. _

Regina hugs her back, bracing herself to let go as soon as Emma pulls away. But when Emma stays there, moving her hand slowly up and down Regina’s back, she settles into the hold and tucks her head into Emma’s shoulder. Emma smells like Granny’s burgers and fabric softener and something uniquely her. It’s a familiar, soothing scent, and Regina savours it for as long as she can.

Several seconds later, Emma pulls back and looks her in the eye. “You’re not going to lose me,” she repeats, more forcefully this time. “Not to marriage, not to _ anything. _ I promise.”

It’s mesmerizing, sincere in the way only Emma can be, but it’s still not enough to convince Regina. “I know you mean that,” she says, placing her hands on Emma’s shoulders. “And I want to believe you. But there’s still so much I don’t understand.”

Emma looks down for several long seconds, and Regina holds her breath, waiting and hoping and knowing she’s done all she can do. The rest is up to Emma.

Finally, Emma looks back up and nods, and relief floods Regina’s entire body.

“Okay,” Emma says quietly. “What do you want to know first?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Do you want to sit down?” Regina suggests. She looks as though she’s relieved herself of some huge weight. She doesn’t look happy, exactly, but a lot of the tension in her face is gone.

Emma nods, her head still spinning. She’s still trying to process. Regina’s  _ not  _ mad at her about Robin. Regina  _ doesn’t  _ blame her for what happened.

Regina loves her.

_ Regina  _ loves her.

_ Why didn’t you tell me earlier?  _ she wants to say.  _ Why didn’t you tell me a year ago? When I still had a choice? _

_ When we could have been together? _

But she understands, deeply, why Regina didn’t. Talking about things is hard, and she was with Hook, because… fuck, she’s an  _ idiot. _

They sit at one of Granny’s outdoor tables. It reminds Emma of her second kiss with Hook, after their time travel adventure. The cool breeze, the fairy lights, it’s all the same.

Except the feeling had been different. When Hook told her he traded his ship for her, it had felt good, knowing that she mattered so much to another person… but it also felt like pressure. Commitment. Like she owed him something, was bound to him somehow.

Now, being with Regina like this, she feels…

She doesn’t know how she feels. Confused, mainly. And nervous. She forces herself to sit still, not to let her foot tap against the table leg.

“Where do you want to start?” she asks.

Regina thinks for a moment. “How about we start with why you wanted your wedding to happen so quickly?”

“Right. That.” She hadn’t even considered, when she made the call, how much stress it would put on everyone else. She wouldn’t have done it, if she’d considered that.

She looks at her hands, then back at Regina. “Everyone already thinks I’m not going to go through with this,” she says quietly. “If I move the date back, that’ll just prove them right.”

“What they think isn’t important,” Regina says. “It’s what you think that matters. It’s your wedding, Emma.”

“Yeah. But the problem is…” She takes a deep breath. “I kind of… don’t want to. Go through with it.”

Regina’s eyebrows fly up, and Emma rushes to explain. “It’s the commitment thing,” she says. “I know Killian’s a great guy, and I’m lucky to have him. I just… it scares me, knowing that it’s forever.”

Regina narrows her eyes. “Are you sure this is your fear of commitment talking?”

“Seriously? You know me. I run all the time.”

“So you say,” Regina says, looking at her thoughtfully. “But… that’s not something I’ve associated with you for a long time.”

Emma frowns, remembering their argument earlier that day. “You said—”

“I know what I said,” Regina says with a sigh. “I was angry, and I was wrong. You’re not really that much of a runner. At least, you haven’t been since I’ve known you.”

“What are you talking about?” Emma asks, genuinely confused.

“You’ve always stayed when it mattered,” Regina argues. “You stayed in Storybrooke in the first place because of Henry. You came back to Storybrooke to fight Zelena because you knew it was the right thing to do, and because it was what Henry would want. You stayed in Storybrooke after we defeated Zelena because of your family.” She looks at Emma steadily. “You’ve always stayed for the important things.”

Emma opens her mouth, ready to refute Regina’s argument, to find an example when she did run from something important… but she can’t. Regina’s right: Emma has stayed all of the times she mentioned, no matter how badly she wanted to run.

The only thing Regina doesn’t realize is that she was always one of the important things. Emma stayed for her family, yes, and because it was her duty… but also because she never wanted to leave Regina behind.

It gives her an entirely new way of thinking about things, about  _ herself.  _ For her entire relationship with Hook, she’s always thought she was running away from him. But maybe, just maybe… she was running towards Regina instead.

“Besides,” Regina says, “after everything you went through to get Hook back, I can’t imagine how he could think that you might leave him. You went to hell for him, for God’s sake.”

It’s like a bucket of cold water is splashed on Emma. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Yeah, I did.”

And this is why things could never work between them. Because even after everything, she still chose him.

And Regina would still hate her if she knew why.

But maybe she deserves that. Maybe it would help Regina let go of Emma, if she told her. And then Emma could make the choice she needs to make. It might ruin their friendship in the process… but again, maybe she deserves that.

Maybe Regina deserves better.

“The thing is,” she says, forcing the words out of her mouth, “I didn’t… I know everyone thinks I did that because of true love, or whatever. But it was more complicated than that.”

“How do you mean?” Regina asks after a pause.

“It wasn’t… I should go back a bit, I guess,” Emma says. “Starting with after I became the Dark One, because that’s when things between us got really serious. I mean, they were kind of getting serious before that, but it wasn’t, like… violate his soul, cover up his murder, drag your family to hell for him serious. That’s a whole different Facebook status.”

“One that wouldn’t get much use, I imagine,” Regina says, raising an eyebrow.

“Not outside of Storybrooke, anyway,” Emma says.

Regina smiles briefly. “So,” she says. “What about when you were the Dark One?”

“It’s not just… evil impulses, or whatever.” She drums her fingers against the table, trying to think of how to explain it. “It messes with your head. Makes you think stuff you don’t want to think.”

She closes her eyes. “I started thinking all these horrible things,” she says. “Like… like maybe my family only loved me because I’m the Saviour. And maybe they wouldn’t love me when they figured out that I… kind of liked the darkness.”

She opens her eyes again, but Regina doesn’t look surprised, nor does she look like she’s judging her. She’s just listening.

Emma keeps going. “But Hook never cared about me being the Saviour. He never looked at me like I was evil. And I thought… okay, at least there’s one person who will love me even if everyone finds out I’m like this. Because I could lie to him. He never figured out I was turning dark.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, I told him I didn’t want to let go of the darkness because I was scared to move in with him.”

“And he believed that?” Regina asks incredulously.

Emma nods. “Yeah, he bought it.”

“You needed someone you could lie to,” Regina says. “Someone who wouldn’t push you.”

“I know it sounds bad,” Emma says, which is an understatement. “But yeah, pretty much.”

Her shoulders slump. “Then he almost died. And I…” She looks up at Regina. “I couldn’t handle it,” she says bluntly.

“Well, that’s understandable,” Regina says. “You loved him.”

Her tone is kind, reassuring, but it only makes Emma feel worse. “Not exactly,” she says reluctantly. “I mean, yeah, I loved him, but that’s not… that’s not all of it.”

Regina tilts her head, listening.

Emma sighs. “The thing about the darkness is it gives you tunnel vision. It’s like the only things that matter are you and what you want more than anything. That’s it. And everything else… it’s just not important anymore.”

“And what you wanted more than anything was him,” Regina says, and Emma can tell she’s fighting to keep the hurt out of her tone.

“Not exactly him,” Emma says. “I wanted… I wanted someone who would be there for me no matter what. Which meant someone I could lie to, like you said.”

Regina nods slowly, and Emma can tell she wants to interrupt with something kind, something Emma doesn’t deserve to hear. She pushes forward. “So I saved him, and… well, that caused a lot of problems. Because what Hook wanted most wasn’t me. It wasn’t love. It was revenge.” She remembers what Hook said to her—calling her _nothing more than a pretty, blonde distraction_—and her stomach twists. Even after all this time, it still hurts.

“That’s horrible,” Regina says, her voice low and angry. “That he would choose revenge over you.”

“It’s not his fault,” Emma says. “Not entirely. Like I said, being the Dark One gives you tunnel vision. That applied to him as much as it did to me.”

Regina purses her lips. “It still isn’t right.”

“Yeah, I know,” Emma says. “And neither is what I did to him. I was horrible to him, and he was horrible to me, but we both get it, and we decided to move on from it.” They know the worst parts of each other, and they’re still together. That should count for something, right?

“Did you talk about it?” Regina asks.

“I mean… not really,” Emma says, and then she sighs. “No. Not at all. But it wasn’t his fault. He brought it up once, but I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Regina looks like this doesn’t surprise her at all.

“When the darkness was out of me,” Emma continues, “I thought it would go back to normal right away, but it didn’t. For a long time, it was like Hook was all I could think about. Like getting him back was the goal, and it was all I could deal with. I don’t… I don’t remember a lot of it,” she admits. “But I know what I did, and I know who got hurt.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Regina says again.

“Except it was,” Emma says. “At least some of it. But everyone forgave me anyway, because you all thought I did it out of true love.” It’s the only reason why they would put up with any of what she did. Everyone in her family, including Regina, understands doing desperate, even evil things for the sake of true love. But doing those things out of pure, horrible selfishness? They’d have no reason to forgive that.

Emma braces herself for the condemnation she deserves. Instead of agreeing with her, though, Regina just looks confused. “What are you talking about? That’s not why we forgave you.”

Emma frowns, confused. “But then why…”

“Because we love you,” Regina says clearly. “Because Robin is an adult who made his own choices. It’s not as though you meant to hurt him.”

“But it doesn’t  _ matter  _ what I meant to do,” Emma says. “I get it now. I ruined your life. Like I always do.”

“You don’t ruin my life,” Regina says softly. “You make it better.”

“No, I don’t,” Emma says, her voice rising as her frustration with herself spills over. “Everything I do messes up your life! I thought you should bring Robin back, and that made things worse! I encouraged you to split off the Queen, and that made things worse! The last time I did anything good for you was when I became the Dark One to protect your happy ending, and look how bad I messed _that _up.”

“You didn’t mess it up,” Regina says, and her eyes are so warm. “But even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything. Hook isn’t the only person who loves you for who you are, not because you’re the Saviour.”

And just like that, they’re back to Regina’s feelings. Guilt sweeps over Emma again at the reminder, and she breaks Regina’s gaze, shifts uncomfortably in her chair.

Regina leans forward, looking anxious, as though she thinks she said something wrong. “I want you to know,” she says quickly, “that me having feelings for you isn’t why I think you should postpone your wedding. I realize that you don’t… that you don’t return those feelings, and I’ve made my peace with that.”

Emma swallows hard. This isn’t fair to Regina at all. The only thing Emma wants to do is make Regina happy. Let her know she’s loved too.

But she can’t tell her, because…

Wait, why can’t she? Regina isn’t mad at her. She knows Emma doesn’t love Hook, and she’s still  _ here… _

“I just want to know that you’re happy,” Regina says, and she clearly means it. She looks like she truly is prepared to go the rest of her life believing that Emma doesn’t love with her, if it means Emma gets to be happy.

Emma’s heart hurts and hurts, and the longer she looks into Regina’s sad, guilty eyes, the worse it gets.

Regina keeps talking, seemingly unnerved by Emma’s continued silence. “And I don’t ever,  _ ever _ want you to feel that I expect anything—”

“I love you.”

Regina stops abruptly, her eyes widening in shock. They look at each other for a few moments, Emma not fully believing that she just said what she did… but the look on Regina’s face proves it.

“What… what do you mean by that?” Regina asks carefully.

“You know,” Emma whispers. “You know what I mean.”

Regina’s mouth opens. She looks like she’s having trouble processing what Emma’s saying, or like maybe she doesn’t believe her.

“I didn’t realize it at first,” Emma rambles, “because I’m an idiot. But that whole time when I was running after you, wanting you to be my friend… I just felt so much better around you. But by the time I realized that, it was too late. But I want you to know you’re not alone in what you feel,” Emma says. “You never were.”

Emma can see the moment it hits Regina: this is real, Emma means it, Emma really does love her—and Regina closes her eyes, presses a hand to her mouth. She looks… shocked, and relieved, and happy, and it’s the most beautiful thing Emma has ever seen.

But when Regina opens her eyes a few moments later, there’s only resignation in them. She still doesn’t believe that this will change anything. She still doesn’t think Emma will choose her.

And the worst part is, she’s not wrong.

Because Emma remembers the other reason why she didn’t want to tell Regina. Why she thought she never could.

Regina looks at her with so much worry, so much concern, so much hope, and Emma’s heart beats so fast she thinks it’ll pound right out of her ribcage, and she can’t—

She can’t—

It’s too much. She turns and runs, Regina calling behind her. She gets in her car and drives away, hating herself the entire time, and wishing she knew how to stop.

  
  


It’s the running that convinces her. Hearing the words  _ I’m in love with you _ from Emma felt like a dream. But the fear and self-loathing on Emma’s face as she ran away? That’s reality.

Regina’s not sure how to begin processing any of this. One part of her is giddy that Emma loves her back, but another part of her aches with sympathy for her. Loving someone else and thinking they don’t love you is a horribly lonely feeling. She doesn’t wish that on anyone, especially not Emma, and it pains her to think of her friend feeling that way.

She’s also confused. If Emma loves her, why the hell is she planning to marry someone else in two days?

Perhaps she loves Hook vastly more than she loves Regina. But if she doesn’t… if she has some other reason to choose him…

Another feeling takes the forefront: concern. Emma hadn’t looked at her like she’d come to a glorious realization and would immediately drop Hook to be with her. Even if she had, Regina wouldn’t have thought that was a good idea (as much as part of her would have loved to take her up on it).

Emma had looked absolutely terrified. She’ll come back eventually, like she always does, but in the meantime… Regina doesn’t think she would do anything drastic, but she would feel much better if she knew where Emma is.

She drives to Emma’s house and doesn’t see her car there. She drives to the Sheriff’s station, but doesn’t find her there either. She even drives past the Charmings’ loft: still nothing.

Her heart starts to pound. Should she drive out to the town line? Into the woods? She takes out her phone, checking for a text from Emma even though she didn’t feel a vibration—

Her  _ phone.  _ Of course. She opens the location app Emma installed last year and checks her location, waiting impatiently for the few seconds it takes for the app to load. When it does, she sees that Emma’s little dot is parked right outside…

Right outside Regina’s house?

Regina drives home as quickly as she can. She parks in her own driveway and looks over at Emma’s car, violently yellow in the light of the streetlamp by the curb. Despite what the tracker showed her, it’s a relief to have it confirmed, to see Emma sitting in her car and looking back at her.

Regina goes over and taps gently on the car window. Emma looks up at her and mouths, _ It’s unlocked. _

She lets herself in and sits in the passenger seat. Emma stares at the steering wheel, her hands clamped around it so tightly the knuckles are white, as though if she doesn’t anchor herself to something, she’ll float away… or run and never come back.

“Sorry,” she says softly.

“It’s okay,” Regina says.

“It isn’t, though.” Emma turns to Regina. “I did mean it, you know.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t…” Emma takes a breath. “I don’t…”

“I know,” Regina says again. Emma does love Hook, even if it’s not true love. And Emma isn’t the kind of person who would need true love to choose someone.

“No, you don’t.” Emma looks at her hands again. “I messed up,” she says quietly. “I get that now. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

She sounds so young and so old all at once. Vulnerable and afraid, jaded and exhausted.

“Then let’s fix it. Together.” Regina reaches out and places her hand near Emma’s. “We can figure this out. We’ve figured out all sorts of things together. Monsters and curses and… and parenting a teenager.”

Emma smiles at that, just a little.

“We can figure this out too,” Regina says. “You and me. We can do it.”

It takes a while, but then Emma puts her hand on Regina’s. “It’s complicated,” she warns her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Regina asks, pretty sure she knows the answer.

“Not really,” Emma says with a sigh. “But I think I have to.”

“Why don’t you come in,” Regina says, “and I’ll finally get that drink.”

“Cider?” Emma asks.

“Does that suit you?”

The corners of Emma’s mouth quirk up. “Sure, why not?”

They enter the house together and make their way to Regina’s study, where Regina pours them both generous helpings of cider. They sit down together on the couch, side by side, but turned towards each other.

To Regina’s surprise, Emma is the one to break the silence. “You remember when I said I don’t care about wedding stuff?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not just wedding stuff,” she says, turning her glass around in her hands—which are trembling, Regina notices. “I don’t care about… well, a lot of things. At least not as much as I should.”

“How do you mean?” Regina asks.

“Like… the idea of being with Hook forever is… it’s scary,” Emma says. “But it’s not as terrifying as it would be before. I thought that was a good thing. Maybe it’s finally as easy as it’s supposed to be. Maybe I’m letting my walls down, or whatever, like Hook always says.”

She stares into her cider, swirls it around in her glass. “But it’s getting harder,” she says. “Especially since the final battle, because now it’s all… it’s all real, you know? I’m going to survive. This wedding is actually gonna happen.” She talks more rapidly, swirls her cider more vigorously until a drop flies out onto her dress. She doesn’t even notice. “And it’s like I’m going backwards. I’m not getting better. I’m just getting more stressed out. It’s affected how I feel about everything.” She looks at Regina. “Even you.”

She sighs, seeming to lose all her energy in one breath, and puts her glass on the table. “Before I became the Dark One, you were basically all I could think about. I just wanted you to be happy. I wanted to make you happy. And I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore. I don’t even feel like I know how to be happy anymore.

“I love you,” Emma says helplessly, and the pain in her voice cuts into Regina like a knife. “I love you as best I can. And I think that at one point, maybe I could’ve been good for you. I should never have been with Hook, I get that. But now… I just don’t know if I can be enough for you.”

“There is no version of you,” Regina says quietly, “that would not be more than enough for me.  _ None, _ Emma.”

“But you feel things  _ so much,”  _ Emma says, and her voice is brimming with awe, with admiration. “You love so strongly, and you give so much of yourself, and I can’t  _ do  _ that anymore.”

It’s surreal for Regina to hear Emma talk about her wild, intense emotional state, something she’s long thought of as one of her worst qualities, as though it’s some unimaginable goal. Something to strive for, not something to fight against.

“If I thought I could get it back, feel like that again…” Emma shakes her head. “But it’s been months, and I feel worse than ever.”

“You need to give yourself more time,” Regina argues. She puts her untouched cider on the table and takes Emma’s hands in hers. “You’ve spent all these months trying to force yourself to be in love with someone who couldn’t even begin to deserve you. Give yourself a chance, Emma. Don’t marry him just because you think this is all the happiness you ever get.”

“But what if it is?” Emma whispers. “It’s not fair to Hook if I dump him, even after everything we’ve been through, just so I can go be miserable without him. And it’s not fair to  _ you  _ if I start a relationship with you even though I know I can’t give you everything you need.”

“As long as you’re happy, and as long as you’re my friend, I already have everything I need,” Regina says. “And you don’t owe Hook anything. Despite what he may believe, you’re not his personal source of happiness. You’re a  _ person. _ ”

Slowly, Emma nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You  _ are, _ ” Regina insists. “And besides, not that I care about this  _ at all, _ but you’re not doing Hook any favours by marrying him out of obligation or pity. Would you want someone to marry you just because they felt like they were supposed to?”

Emma shakes her head. “I didn’t really think about it like that,” she says quietly.

“You don’t have to choose between me and Hook,” Regina says. “You don’t have to choose anyone other than yourself. Not now, and not ever.”

Emma looks at her for a long time without saying anything. Regina waits, hoping the words will sink in.

“And if I want to choose you?” Emma whispers finally. “Not right now, but… someday?”

Regina swallows, her heartbeat picking up speed. “Then I don’t see why we can’t make that happen.”

“And it won’t be a problem, if I can’t give as much?” Emma asks.

“As long as it’s not a problem when I give too much,” Regina says.

“That,” Emma says fervently, “would be the opposite of a problem.”

“Then I think that works out quite well.”

“What do we do until then?” Emma asks, and Regina loves that she said  _ until. _ “Pretend like this never happened?”

“Not necessarily,” Regina says. “I think we go on as we normally would. We stay friends. We don’t have to talk about… about the rest of it, not until we’re both ready. But that doesn’t mean we have to pretend it never happened. Does that sound all right?”

“Yeah,” Emma says. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Regina leans in and presses her forehead to Emma’s. Emma closes her eyes, keeps them closed for a long time. They stay there for several minutes, not talking, just enjoying each other’s company.

Finally, Emma opens her eyes. “I should probably go,” she says reluctantly. “I have a fiancé to break up with.”

It’s  _ such _ a relief to hear her say those words, but Emma’s expression is nervous enough that it makes Regina anxious. She keeps her voice steady as she says, “Not necessarily. I could do it on your behalf. I’d be happy to. I could be very convincing.”

It gets a smile out of Emma, the way it was meant to. “I’m sure you could,” Emma says. “But really, I can do it myself.”

They both stand, and Regina walks Emma to the door. “Call me if you want backup,” she says. “And text me tomorrow, to let me know how it goes.”

“I can handle this, Regina.” Emma smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Regina puts a hand on her shoulder. “You’re sure you’re not going to get there and change your mind?”

“I’m not,” Emma says. “I’m definitely not.”

“Promise me.”

Emma looks at her seriously for several moments, long enough that Regina can’t guess what she’s thinking. Her gaze moves from Regina’s eyes down to her mouth.

Then she reaches out and cups Regina’s face gently, and Regina knows what’s going to happen right before it does.

She leans in to meet Emma’s kiss. It’s nothing long, nothing intense, but it’s gentle and sweet and sincere. Regina puts her free hand on Emma’s back, and Emma puts her hands on Regina’s waist. It’s not the most technically perfect kiss in the world, nor even the most passionate, but it’s everything Regina could have imagined it to be and more.

So much more, because it’s real.

When Emma pulls back, she’s smiling, just a little. “I promise,” she says, “I’m not gonna change my mind.”

As Regina touches her lips with her fingers, dazed, Emma walks out onto the porch. Then she stops and turns around. “Thank you,” she says, “for letting me talk about all of this.” She smiles wryly. “Thanks for making me.”

Regina smiles back. “Thank you for talking to me,” she says softly.

They say goodnight to each other. Emma leaves, and Regina closes the door, still smiling.

Emma may not have hope right now, and Regina understands that, probably better than most people would. But Regina thinks about the way Emma smiles at her even when she’s having a rough day. She thinks about the heaping pile of messy paperwork on Emma’s desk, the overdue reports, the missed deadlines… and the concerned texts that showed up on her phone every day, like clockwork. She thinks about Emma’s face before she kissed her, open and vulnerable and  _ hers. _

She thinks about how far they’ve come, how much they’ve grown and opened up to each other, and how Emma did it again when it mattered.

She trusts that Emma will keep her word. She trusts that Emma will be all right, even if she doesn’t feel that way right now. She knows she has her friend back… and maybe, someday, they will be more.

For the first time in a very long time, Regina goes to bed smiling.


End file.
